


Out of Time (Working Title)

by static_stars



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Falling In Love, Flirting, I'm so sorry this is basically a harem thing with cowboys and angst, Multi, Self-Insert, Slice of Life, Time Travel, she flirts around with a lot of dudes and ladies and ends up with one, there will be porn eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_stars/pseuds/static_stars
Summary: A job in Blackwater goes south and forces the Van der Linde gang high up onto Mt. Hagan, and they're caught in a terrible blizzard.A young woman, Katherine Morris, is also caught in that very same storm. She's found and brought back to camp, but this girl is more than she seems.It's her goal to keep her head above water in the escalating situation the gang seems to find themselves in and get back home; wherever home may be. And maybe, she'll learn a thing or two about being an outlaw along the way.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Charles Smith/Original Female Character(s), Dutch van der Linde/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) & Van der Linde Gang, Sadie Adler/Original Female Character(s), Sort-of harem anime
Comments: 33
Kudos: 98





	1. Colter, the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Hey fellas. This is 100% self-insert self-indulgence, plus it's the first thing I've written in a while, and I feel pretty good about it. Look man, I just want to kiss cowboys and get my writing validated.
> 
> Feel free to give constructive criticism and suggest some slice-of-life cowboy shenanigans for the gang to get up to! We'll see how long this get, but I plan to write the whole game.
> 
> Chapter 1 starts us out on Hagan.  
> Comments are appreciated love y'all.

May 19th, 1899  
Colter

_Being no stranger to the odd happenings on mountains in old shacks and the like- I should have expected this. Whatever this happens to be. Just a day or so after Mrs. Adler arrived in our camp and we found John near bled out on a ledge, we’ve had a second new arrival. Another young woman, about 21 or so- frail from hunger, with her hair cropped close to her head._   
_Charles and I were hunting doe up on Mt. Hagan- that was normal. We have near about 20 mouths to feed in camp right now and it’s expected for us to provide while Dutch figures us a way out of this hellish place. Passing the abandoned hunting shack- perfectly normal. The moan above the wind- unmistakable. Thought it could have been that O’Driscoll I let run a few nights ago, but Charles was already kicking in the door before I could say something._

  
_The girl was shivering, hungry. It looked like she’d finished out her rations already and burnt through all the dry wood and matches she’d had. Unfortunately, the second thing we noticed was that she was practically naked, no skirt, hardly a blouse, and a bright blue coat with no fur to speak of. She was huddled around a similarly blue… bag? (I think it’s a bag. Far too big to be a saddlebag. Maybe a bedroll, it’s got that shape.) Made of canvas and cloth. Closer still to her chest she clung to a toy bear- like a child._   
_Couldn’t get her to speak other than the occasional whimper. Charles, soft-hearted as he is, took off his own coat- the fool, wrapped her in it, and loaded the blue bag and the girl onto Taima and said, “Take her back, I’ll hunt.”_

  
_I don’t know why he expected me to look after this dying girl, but I couldn’t say no._   
_Micah was the angriest I’ve seen him- hollering about how pathetic it is that we’ve got more women to take care of, how we ain’t a charity. Hosea smacked him over the head, and the girl was brought inside with John and set near the fire. Dutch shooed everyone out but John because he’s still healing. He’s trying to get her to talk, I think. We’ll see._   
_There are bad folks in this world, but none so bad as to abandon a young woman to freeze to death on the side of a mountain._

-0-

  
It’s freezing. At this point she accepts her icy, hungry death and she’s ready to give out and just let the cold sap out what little energy she has left. The icy mountain wind howls around her and pelts the side of the little hunting shack she’d stumbled into for shelter. It’s still not enough to keep out the chill.

  
The shack had been a blessing when she’d found it after getting stuck in that freak blizzard; then it became her own personal hell after running out of food and matches. _‘This is why you never backpack alone, even if you are an experienced hiker.’_ She’d grimly thought before when she could think about anything other than her own impending doom.

  
She’s ready. She has her best friend, teddy, out and tight to her chest, and she curls up in the fetal position wearing her pathetic raincoat and several layers of clothes that were meant for a sunny spring weekend. Her backpack blocks only some of the frigid breeze from her exposed skin, and she shivers in a desperate bid to keep her core warm. The young woman squeezes her eyes shut and lets out a wail of pain. One last horrible noise to let the mountain know that she won’t go quietly. It’ll be soon, she can feel it. The yawning maw of death grows ever wider as she shuffles to the edge.

  
Through the fog clouding her head, she swears she can hear voices outside, but she chalks it up to another hallucination, her mind struggling to comfort her in her final moments. But then the door bursts open, there is a quick argument from the voices, real voices; she doesn’t recognize them and can barely hear them over the wind. There’s a nudge to her side, a whimper she can barely tell is her own voice, and suddenly there is warmth. Sweet blissful warmth. She’s half convinced she’s finally died and is being plucked up by angels as two sets of strong arms lift her up, until she starts moving- galloping, and there’s a voice in her ear.  
“You’d better be worth the trouble, miss.”

  
His breath smells of whiskey and pure tobacco, and She’d probably care if she wasn’t on the verge of death. It’s much easier just to pass out and sink back into his chest and let the heat return to her limbs. She doesn’t hear her savior call his companion a fool or the hoofbeats of the mare in the fresh snow. She doesn’t see the paths of the wild animals or the great pine trees that grow too far apart to provide any real cover from the blistering cold. All the young woman knows right now is the steady, solid heat of the man behind her and the rocking motion of the horse as it moves. She’s alive.

  
-0-

  
The members of the ramshackle camp gather around, asking far too many questions for the man on the grey and white mare to answer at his return to them. Questions like:  
Where is Charles? Who the hell is that? The HELL is she wearing?! And so on.

  
“It’s a girl!” He yells over their voices, hoping to quiet them, “She’s half near frozen and starving to death, so either outta my goddamn way, or help me unload her! She needs heat, now.”  
A couple of the women in the gang help her down, more comfortable to touch the exposed girl; a stony-faced blonde in particular is the most help moving her. The woman knows the cold desolation of this mountain better than any of them and what it can take from the innocent. Sadie Adler sees a younger reflection of herself in this dying creature, she is overwhelmed with the urge to protect whatever little good she’s got left in her. If she survives, that is.

  
“Thank you, Mrs. Adler, Karen, Abigail.” The man nods appreciatively at them and removes the blue knapsack from the back of the horse, “Please, get her inside with John, he ain’t much of a threat right now, she should be ok to rest with him.”

  
“Arthur!” From his makeshift quarters, marches Micah Bell, practically frothing at the mouth pushing violently through the crowd before stopping square in front of Arthur, “Care to explain to every _sensible_ goddamn person in this camp why you brought us _another_ woman to feed?!”

  
Arthur stabs a finger into Micah’s chest, already taking him up on his hostile approach, “She’s _dyin’_ Micah! And it weren’t my decision neither; Charles is the one who put her up on Taima with me and told me to come back! I’m just the messenger, you take that up with him if it bothers you.”

  
“You know we don’t have enough food and space for her. Shoulda’ left her for dead, cowpoke. Then the wolves could’ve gotten nice and fat and we would’ve had a feast! But of course, you and that- half-breed sonovabitch had to go and play hero and save another poor damsel in distress.” Micah throws up his arms and laughs in exasperation, his voice dissolves into the wind, near hysteric.

  
“You shut your damn mouth and don’t speak for my actions, Bell. I swear I will shoot you.”

“Gentlemen!” Over the sound of their argument and the wind comes the voice of their leader, “Be civil, I’m begging, for two minutes.”

  
Arthur backs down immediately, obedient, “Sorry, Dutch,” he apologizes in a mumble.

  
“I know you are, son...” Dutch pauses, thinking about his next move before hollering over the wind for all to hear, “Now get inside, all of you! Get warm and don’t gawk. Let the girl be. We’ll get her to talk when she wakes up. Go on! And someone keep an eye out for Mr. Smith!” He tromps back through the snow. Who knows whom this girl is? Friend or Foe? Another of O’Driscoll’s people? A Pinkerton? Dutch decides that a little later he’ll have a friendly conversation with her and make sure she isn’t a threat to their already delicate security.

  
In the meantime, Arthur moves into the room where she and John are being kept and pries open the knapsack and shuffles though it’s contents, keeping half an eye on her. No weapons save for a dull little pocket-knife. Empty canteens made of something hard and clear (glass? Couldn’t be, it’s too light), no food, unfamiliar medications, a bedroll, and- wait. What is this? He takes out a long cylinder with a little switch on the side. He flips the switch and a beam of light from the barrel hits the sleeping figure of John in the face. John groans and stirs, and Arthur quickly flips off the light and pockets it.

  
Arthur continues his search. Two books, shaded spectacles, a flimsy hat, a compass, a comb, a map of the Heartlands and Mt. Hagan with the proportions of nearby towns wildly incorrect, a bottle (again, clear, but not glass, this time the material is softer) of liquid soap, a small set of crockery and utensils, two rectangular objects (the smaller of which he also pockets after fiddling with it extensively), a wallet full of obviously counterfeit bank notes and coins and a small card with her face, age, name, and birthdate printed onto it (another obvious fake- well- whatever it is, it says her birthdate isn’t until near 100 years from now), so nothing valuable, and finally, a silver-colored sack marked on the outside with the words **‘Blood Bag !!Tie up with bear bags!!’**

  
He stares at the words for a few moments. Blood Bag? She some kind of killer? Are these her grizzly trophies?! Arthur opens the sack, peers inside and closes it immediately when he sees the contents. _‘Oh. That kind of blood.’_ He thinks, heat rising into his cheeks. He packs everything except what he took back into the bag and leaves it on the floor next to her.

  
Katherine Morris, huh? Probably a runaway from something or someone. Arthur can’t blame her, lots of things to run from these days... But he recalls the strange things in her knapsack and feels for them over the fabric of his coat. For some odd reason, he thinks that she doesn’t even know what she is either.

  
She stirs a little and mumbles in her sleep; she’ll be waking soon, he figures.

  
_‘Gotta find Dutch and Hosea.’_ He thinks, _‘They’ll know what to do about all this.’_ And with that, he ventures back outside and finds he doesn’t have to look for Dutch at all.

  
“Arthur, my boy, we have to discuss the girl and her future as part of this outfit. Join Hosea and I, won’t you?” Dutch grabs him by his shoulder and guides him away from the main cabin and back towards Arthur’s temporary quarters along with the elder Hosea nabbed on the way over in his other hand.

  
Arthur’s room is small, so the three men opt to meet in what’s left of the kitchen in the old house. Hosea sits in a rickety chair, crossing his legs, Dutch, ever dominant, stands, and Arthur leans back against the wall, striking a match on his boot to light up a cigarette.

  
After a moment of pointed silence, Arthur breaks and speaks up, “I don’t know what else to tell you, Dutch, she was lying near dead in that hunting shack, ‘n Charles made me come back with her. It weren’t the smartest thing, but it was the right thing.” He takes a few puffs and lets the tobacco calm his nerves.

  
“We don’t have room for more strays, as much as I hate to agree with Micah.” Hosea mutters and folds his arms over his chest, “It’s bad enough with Blackwater behind us and the O’Driscolls and Pinkertons on our tails. Damn this weather… We need a good thaw and we can get the hell out of here. Maybe then we can return this fool of a girl to whomever she belongs. I don’t doubt that someone is looking for her and might be willing to part with some money for her safe return.”

  
Arthur snubs the cigarette out under his boot, adding after another lull in the conversation, “There’s somethin’ odd about her, you notice? She don’t look like she’s from here. A far-off fairyland maybe…” Arthur adds, “And after you shooed folks back inside, I took the opportunity to look in her knapsack, that big blue thing we found with her, in case she had any weapons, and I found this.” He removes the small rectangle, which is about the size of his palm, from his coat pocket. The front is covered in a thin sheet of glass looking into a dark black window, and the back is covered in a hard shell, “What the hell do y’all think this is?”

  
“I… Don’t rightly know…” Hosea takes it and examines it, taps at the buttons on the outside, but it doesn’t respond. He hands it back to Arthur, and he puts it back in his coat for safekeeping.

  
“And this?” Arthur takes out the other object from his coat. “A lightbulb that don’t use any wires?” He flips the little switch on the side and the bulb inside the long tube illuminates the dreary cabin. “I don’t think she belongs to anyone at all, an asylum maybe, but these things... Along with that- identification card I found? The fake money? She’s either the world’s worst grifter, or something else altogether…”

  
Dutch takes the cylinder from Arthur and flips the switch a few times, thinking. “Her clothes, or what I saw while she was being moved, at least, the bloomers she was wearing… The top layer, they were made of denim. They had the cut of work pants with no legs. And her shoes. I have never in all my days seen a shoe of that make; her stockings were cut so short to belong to a lady… I think you’re right, Arthur. Something odd is going on with that girl.” Dutch looks up toward Hosea after a brief internal deliberation, “Old friend, I respect what you think is the right thing to do, and in any other situation I’d agree with you, especially since we are in dire need of money… But something’s not sitting right. We need to keep her with us and figure out if she’s dangerous before we let her go.”

  
Hosea sighs. He understands Dutch’s inquisitive nature wouldn’t let him rest if he didn’t tear this mystery apart piece by piece to figure out how it all works, “Fine. But she ain’t a pet. She needs to do her share of the work, and someone needs to look after her to make sure she don’t run off and get killed.”

  
Dutch smiles smugly, happy to get his way, “Whatever you say, Mr. Matthews.”

  
Hosea huffs tiredly, rubs his eyes and says, “Arthur, look after the girl while she’s staying with us.”

  
“Sure.” He drawls, pushing up off the wall and taking back the cylinder, stuffing it into his pocket with the little rectangle.

  
“And give her back her things. She might get upset if something goes missing.”

  
Arthur nods and supplicates, “At least we know she’s tough. God knows how long she survived that storm alone… She should do fine with us.”  
“Quit trying to convince me of a bad idea I already agreed to.”

  
Arthur shakes his head, “She’s starting to wake up, better go catch her Dutch, ‘n get her to talk, if she can.”

  
“Save those that need saving...” Dutch murmurs one of the partially unspoken laws of the gang to himself before heading to the door of the cabin, “Gentlemen, I have a young lady I need to speak with.” He nods respectfully to his companions and leaves, moving back to the main cabin.

  
Hosea gets up to follow him out but pauses to look back at Arthur. He opens his mouth as if to say something but shakes his head and steps back out into the snow, alone.

  
Arthur goes into his room for a bit of peace and sits on his bed, removing his hat. He rubs his face and the stubble of a few days’ catches on his sheepskin gloves. ‘I need to shave.’ He thinks idly to himself. There’s no time for that. Not now. Maybe when we get off this damn mountain there will be, but not now. He sighs and leans back against the thin straw mattress and thinks about Katherine and how small she felt in his arms. He thinks about her frigid little body curled up in the dirt and snow of the hunting cabin; how he’s never even heard her speak properly, and it hits him. Despite knowing nothing about this near stranger, he still cares deeply for her wellbeing, and is secretly glad Hosea and Dutch agreed to let her stay. He stares at the warped wood of the roof, lost in thought, and right now? All he can think is this:  
 _‘Well, shit…’_

  
-0-

  
Later, Katherine wakes up on the hard, earthen floor of a small cabin next to a fire burning in a stone chimney; over the fire is a pot, steam escapes from a small gap in the lid. There’s another man she doesn’t know covered in a black fur coat and equally dark hat and clothes accented with a bright red and white checked scarf tied around his neck sitting in a chair nearby.

  
The air is dusty, chilly, and dank; it makes her sneeze. It smells of old building mixing with black coffee from the pot and the coppery scent of blood from a second man with his face wrapped in bandages laying on a bed towards the back of the room. The walls are bare, and the chill seeps in through the cracks of the wood and a broken window. Faded floral curtains flap in the chilling breeze from outside.

  
“So,” Says the man in the chair, rubbing from his jaw down to the goatee he sports on his chin. His voice is deeper, gravellier, than the one on the horse, “You have two ways of starting to talk, miss. First way: you tell me who you are, what you want, and how you got to be up here in nothing but your knickers. Second way: you don’t talk at all, and I shoot you, ‘cause from where I’m sitting, you look like an escaped O’Driscoll if I ever seen one.”

  
Her voice is weak, shaky, but she manages “K-k- Katherine… St-stuck in a b-blizzard… These are my only c-cl-clothes… I just want t-to get w-warm…”  
“Jesus, Dutch,” Says a strained voice from the bed, “She’s just a girl. She ain’t a damn O’Driscoll, and she’s freezing. Let her get back to herself before making her talk. You’re paranoid after the shootout, you could at least treat her like Mrs. Adler after she arrived.”

  
“John,” Dutch says sternly, “We need to protect ourselves- our family first. I appreciate your chivalric attitude, but the circumstances are too suspicious to ignore.”

  
She tightens the borrowed buffalo-skin coat around her and peeks over to John, but quickly looks away when she sees his wounds.

  
“Katherine… You said you were caught in a blizzard?” The fire reflects off his irises, burning molten gold in his dark eyes.

  
She nods warily.

  
“So were we...” Dutch shifts forward in his seat and leans down closer to her, elbows resting on his knees. “Katherine, I need you to understand that we are a very dangerous group of men and women. You could have been left to die, and it’s out of the milk of human kindness that we’re letting you stay with us, eat our food, and earn your keep. If you ever step out of line on us, you’re out.”

  
“I… understand.” She replies, even though she has no idea of what’s happening. The heat of the fire seeps into the coat, warming her, steadying her voice.

  
“Very good.” Dutch slides out of his chair and kneels down next to her, “Now let’s see if we can’t get some feeling back in those fingers, hm? I may be a bad man, but I won’t let you lose any of these.” He delicately takes one of her nearly blue hands in his and sandwiches her fingers between them. Every once in a while, he rubs her freezing digits and eventually they regain their color.

  
“How come you didn’t do that for me when I got back, Dutch?” Jokes John from his bed.

  
“You’ve got a girl to do that for you.”

  
“Abigail would sooner slap me.”

  
“I know.” Dutch continues to aid Katherine’s circulation patiently.

  
After a moment of silence, Dutch rises back to his feet giving Katherine a consoling pat on her shoulder, “I need to have a talk with the rest of our folks. Rest. Get warm. Ms. Grimshaw and Ms. Jackson should be by soon to get you decent. Hot coffee’s over the fire. And John? Don’t bother her.”

  
John waves his comment away dismissively. Dutch makes a soft ‘tch’ noise in response and heads out into the bitter cold, giving a call for everyone in camp to gather around.  
“Katherine, huh? That your real name? You got a last one?”

  
She sniffles a little and responds, feeling a little defensive after being threatened, “Yeah. Kate’s easier though. And I do- not that it’s any of your business, stranger.”  
“Touchy... You’ll do fine here. Let me make it easier so we ain’t strangers no more. I’m John Marston and you, Ms. Kate, are very lucky that my brother Arthur picked you up.” John makes a considerable effort to sit up and look her over. He decides she looks odd. Cute, but odd.

  
“How many of you are there?” Kate asks, pulling her backpack over and rifling through it for her little tin mug to pour a cup of coffee for herself.  
“Eighteen with you. Unless I’m forgetting someone...”

  
“That’s a big number for a hiking party.” She sips at the mug and nearly gags. The coffee is almost nearly all grounds and is bitter and dark.  
“A what?” John cocks his head.

  
“Hiking? That’s what we’re doing before we got caught in the blizzard?”

  
“Sorry miss, that word don’t mean anything to me.”

  
Kate lowers her hands from her face, not letting go of the steaming cup, “Hiking. Where you go out and walk in the woods or up a mountain?”  
“... No. Can’t say I recognize it.”

  
“Then you’re fucking with me or just a plain moron.”

  
“Well, Ms. Kate, I’m considered by many to be a moron, and I’m certainly not- fucking you.” He winces when his face crinkles in mild disgust at the lewd thought and stretches his stitches.  
“Fucking with.” She looks pointedly at him to get the words across.

  
“Can’t say I know that turn of phrase either.”

  
She’s confused. How doesn’t he know the word hiking? That’s what Hagan is for.

  
“Then why are you up on Mt. Hagan?”

  
“Job went south in Blackwater, we’re on the run from the Pinkertons and a rival gang.”

  
Gang? Job? This doesn’t make a bit of sense, but something in the back of her mind is calling this familiar. “The O’Driscolls… That’s the other gang, right?” Kate asks tentatively, “So, you’re a gang?” For now, she decides that this is a weirdly dedicated troupe of historical interpreters and plays along. Interpreters are pretty popular, especially in the spring and summer. Who doesn’t want to play cowboys and outlaws every once in a while? They were probably on an acting retreat and got caught in the storm. Simple.

  
“A pretty notorious one. Surprised you didn’t shit yourself when you saw Dutch van der Linde in the flesh.”

  
Van der Linde… Van der Linde… Why is that name familiar? She drinks from her mug again, trying not to make a face at the taste while she thinks.

  
“Look. Don’t work yourself up about it, Ms. Kate. I can see the steam comin’ outta your ears from thinkin’ too hard. Calm down… I ain’t offended if you don’t recognize us. ‘S probably better that way.” John stretches a little and pushes his long greasy brown hair from his face. “I’m gonna sleep a spell longer. You should probably stay up until Grimshaw and Tilly get here to replace… That.” He says, indicating her clothes. Then he yawns, winces again from the strain on his stitching, lays back down and returns to rest.

  
Kate is left alone with herself and her thoughts; they swirl around in her head like snow and she can’t manage to get a grip on them. The name… Van der Linde. Dutch van der Linde… Who is that? As soon as she starts putting it together, it falls apart. She figures that once she has food, other than this awful cowboy coffee, in her stomach, she’ll be able to process it. But for now, she sips at her mug, cross-legged on the floor, waiting for something warmer to wear.

  
Outside, Dutch discreetly makes the announcement to individuals of the group that Kate will be staying with them for a while, and that though her ways may seem strange, she deserves similar respect to anyone in camp. This news isn’t met with any great reaction, just solemn nods, and that’s all Dutch was looking for.  
Fortunately for Kate, she doesn’t have to wait for long on those clothes, because a woman in her mid 50’s followed by a younger African-American woman come in out of the cold each carrying an armful of cloth.  
“Uh- Ms. Grimshaw and Tilly Jackson, I assume?”

  
“You’d be correct in that assumption, Katherine. We didn’t know who’s would fit best, so we pooled a bit of everyone’s.” Says the older woman.  
“’Cept Molly, she’d stare daggers at us if we even came close to her trunk...” Tilly mumbles.

  
“It’s impolite to gossip, Ms. Jackson. Now, help poor Katherine up and we can get her out of those rags.”

  
“Should I… just pretend I don’t exist while there’s about to be a naked woman in the same room as me, or am I allowed to watch?” Asks John, waking up again at all the commotion.  
Mr. Marston!” Ms. Grimshaw snaps.

  
“Alright. I ain’t lookin’. See?” He covers his head with a blanket, “Your modesty remains intact.”

  
Kate can’t help but chuckle a little at John’s remarks, but after a second or two, the action hurts her ribs and she gives up the attempt.

  
“Don’t laugh, Ms. Katherine. It only encourages him.” If looks could kill, John would be dead and shriveled into a husk if Ms. Grimshaw had anything to say about it.

  
“Sorry…”

  
Layer by layer she’s stripped down until she’s naked and shivering from cold again.

  
“Not to be rude, Katherine… but this is the strangest corset I’ve ever seen.” Tilly says after unhooking Kate’s bra. She doesn’t know why Tilly is bothering to keep up the ‘old timey’ act at a time like this, but if this is what poor Tilly has to do to cope with being stranded in a blizzard, she can let it slide, even if it’s a little weird.

  
Every time they add another layer to her body, the process of trying every size of it repeats until they find the best suited garment. Stockings, bloomers, a slip, blouses, skirts, shoes; it’s a parade of being helped in and out of clothes, and she’s too exhausted to be humiliated by her nakedness or the women tutting over her like mother hens. When Kate finds herself drifting, Ms. Grimshaw always gives her a little smack on the cheek to keep her alert.

  
“If you sleep now, you could be gone for good, just work though it. Get through until we get some food in you.”

  
“Yes ma’am.”

  
“There’s a good girl.” Buttons are hooked in, Kate is wrapped in layers of shawls and scarves to keep the cold at bay, and boots are laced up high and tight.

  
“How long were you out there?” Tilly questions, now that Grimshaw is finished clothing her Tilly runs a comb through Kate’s hair to release all the tangles and dirt.

  
“Three days. It feels like forever, though… I was only meant to be out here for two, wound up staying for five.” She chuckles weakly at the absurdity of it all.

  
“You can never plan that far ahead. Found that out the hard way myself.” She reminisces.

  
“So…” Kate starts, wanting to break the ice and get some answers, “What uh- company are you with? Heartlands Historical Society… West Elizabeth Players?”

  
“We ain’t actors. No idea where you got that idea from, Ms. Katherine.” Tilly responds, pausing the comb.

  
“It’s ok. You can drop the act; you’ve seen me naked for god’s sake. At this point it’s just getting weird.”

  
“This- who do you think we are?” Tilly removes the comb from Kate’s hair entirely and gives her a concerned look.

  
“You’re a historical interpretation group… Aren’t you?” Kate can feel her heart quicken. Something so impossible could never be true. Could it? She tries to deny it, but in her heart, she knows. She knows she’s wrong.  
“And you’re delusional from the cold and starvation, Katherine. This ain’t the time for jokes, you nearly died.”

Grimshaw looks up from folding the clothes they had brought in for her, “If we were interpreting anything of historical importance, we’d be on the east coast, and even then, I doubt that’d make a worthwhile venture. Nobody wants to see what their great-grandparents got up to, even if they were part of the Revolution.”  
Kate takes a deep breath and asks, trying to keep her cool, “For- for my sake, ladies… What year is it? Right now.”

  
“Heaven’s sake, it’s 1899. Did you freeze out all the thoughts out of your head?”

  
Kate feels dizzy. Weak. 1899? It was 2019 last time she’d checked. But the more she thinks on it, the more evidence dawns on her. The clothes, the smells, the use of horses, the gaps in language. It’s all too real, too much. Shit… She was threatened with real guns.

  
“I- uh…” She murmurs, looking around frantically for the fastest exit, swaying on her feet.

  
John peeks his head over the blanket, worry etched across the parts of his face that are unbandaged, “You don’t look too good, Kate, you ought to sit down.”

  
“I’m fine. I just need some air.” She stumbles past Tilly and Ms. Grimshaw on weak legs; they both try to grab her and stop her from opening the door, but it’s ultimately futile, she won’t stop until she’s out. Kate grabs onto the frigid handle and pulls, gasping lungfuls of frigid air, and dazedly stumbles into a solid figure right outside the door.

  
Tobacco. Whiskey. Leather. Gunsmoke. Him.

  
“Hey… Slow down there, girl.” He murmurs, “Don’t go runnin’ off on me now. We just got you warm. Stay a bit.”

  
“I- I can’t be here- I need to go back home- I need to go back to the shack. I don’t belong here.”

  
“Calm down. Just have a seat. Charles is back and Pearson is cooking you something- well… Edible. I was about to come get you.” Arthur speaks as if Kate were a spooked horse and lightly rubs her back. He guesses he’ll find out if horse-whispering works on frightened women too.

“I’m going to throw up…” Kate’s head is spinning; she wants to go home. She doubts she can. She begs to any god that will listen that she’s still in the shack, and these are the last few threads of her life trying to comfort her before being swept away in the storm. That this is the end; that it doesn’t have to be so terrifying and strange. “Move.”  
“If I move, you’ll bolt. You ain’t running out on us.”

Behind the pair in the doorway, Ms. Grimshaw, Tilly, and John look on, frozen in worry.Kate sobs, and tries to push against him. He’s too heavy to budge. A wave of nausea and exhaustion overtakes her and she’s suddenly on her knees at Arthur’s feet, retching into the dirt. Black coffee and bile. Oh, it’s real. Its too real. It wouldn’t feel this awful if it was the real deal and not a dying hallucination.“Christ, you shoulda’ let her go, Arthur. She was serious.” John states after silently witnessing the whole ordeal.

“Care to shut the hell up for a minute, Marston?” Arthur squats down to her level and produces a handkerchief, carefully rubbing what’s left of the mess from her chin and lips.  
“Didn’t know you was such a soft touch.” John continues.

“You want a boot up your ass?” Arthur growls. Tilly and Ms. Grimshaw skirt around the pair to return the clothes to their rightful owners, no longer wanting a part in this situation. “I’m doing what needs done… Save folks that need saving.” He pauses, “Look at me, Katherine.”

Kate looks up at him with tears in her eyes. Shaking with weakness, cold, and fear like a dying animal. It barely registers that he knows her name, “We’ve got you.”

Her eyes dart around through the haze of tears, searching his face. It’s red with cold, but she can see that his words are genuine.

“It alright. Just calm down.” He holds her in that steady blue gaze and a firm hand.

She takes a shuddering breath.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Come on, keep breathin’.”

Kate can feel herself fall forward and get caught in his strong arms, but after that, everything is darkness.

“Arthur’s gotcha…”


	2. Colter, Pulling Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate Morris has begun to settle into the rhythm of camp life after six failed escape attempts.
> 
> Charles gives her a token, Jack defends her from dragons, Arthur defends her honor, and she gets to work. The gang is business as usual, but Dutch has a plan to kill some O'Driscoll Boys and steal a heist.

_May 22 nd, 1899_

_Colter_

_Kate has finally taken to eating- thank God- and accepted that she can’t run from us. Six times in the past couple days, I’ve had to hogtie her and keep her shut in my cabin with some unlucky soul to watch her. Thankfully, Charles, Mrs. Adler, and even little Jack like to keep her company. I’ve, on occasion, come back inside to see Jack dozing off in her lap, holding that little bear doll she won’t let go of close to his chest, and she’s telling him wild stories about people that sail through the stars like an ocean and fight battles with swords made of light. It’s fanciful, ridiculous even, but I know Abigail appreciates having some time to herself even though she hounds him about keeping his distance from Kate, and Jack needs a distraction from the cold._

_Initially when she’d eat, Kate would vomit everything back up, but in just four days we’ve seen a great change in her appetite. She even complains about Pearson’s cooking like the rest of us, so we know she still remembers what good food tastes like, as opposed to her initial wolfing-down of anything vaguely warm and edible._

_This morning she didn’t even try to run. She got her breakfast and huddled up by herself after Charles left her. Jack pounced on her, but she didn’t mind. She had a talk with him, and then? Kate just watched. Listened. It’s off-putting at times, when she just stares at folks like that, but she does it with everyone._

_I’ve actually caught her watching me a few times, but I haven’t said nothing about it. She ain’t hurting me, and it’s given me some time to get a sketch of her done. I wish, though, I could capture those steely grey eyes, hardened, but still innocent, or the way she tugs at her clothes when she’s nervous, or the way she follows certain folks around like a duckling._

_She’s even started to pull some weight. Not the most, but someone needs to keep the horses fed and brushed._

_I’m in over my head. We all are. But she, like the rest of us, is adjusting._

-0-

Kate figures that she should have known that eating would be a pain in the ass, since she’d been starving for about three days. It frustrates her to no end that she can’t hold down the scraps of meat and stew the cook, Pearson, if she remembers correctly, is in charge of. She wants to build strength to run back to the shack as soon as possible, but every time… Nausea, fatigue, vomit, and no matter how far she runs, Arthur picks her up, whether she’s lying in the snow, shivering, or still running as fast as the unfamiliar layers will allow, carries her back, and drops her off in his cabin right on the hard dirt floor with a sad little fire going in the fireplace, and another member of the gang sat in a chair nearby. Sometimes she tries to fight him, sometimes she lays deathly still and silent. But Arthur, and whoever he ropes into watching her, usually give her the same speech. She should be grateful, she should respect the rules, she needs to rest, until she knows it from memory. Last night marked the latest escape attempt, six, if anyone was keeping score.

But the people Arthur makes watch her are alright. Like this morning; Charles, the other man that rescued her from the ice is taking his turn, replacing Arthur’s night-watch.

“Charles?” Kate nudges herself off the ground into a sitting position against the wall with her knees up close to her chest. She stares blankly into the meager little fire. It’s the first time she’s spoken to him all morning.

“Hm?” He has his knife out and is carving a stick into a tiny figure, throwing the little scraps of wood into the flames.

“You should have left me out there.” She murmurs.

Charles responds almost instantaneously, “That’s out of the question, Kate. I’m not leaving anyone to freeze to death if I can help it. What a horrible thing to wish upon yourself.” She’s been saying things like this since her first night in camp after her panic attack and subsequent fainting into Arthur’s arms. Charles wonders how she got to be so pessimistic.

“I wouldn’t be here if you’d left me.” The first night was the hardest, all sorts of pain kept her company after she was unfrozen. Kate had kept most of the camp up with her wailing and retching while Arthur, Charles, and Pearson tried to keep something in her stomach. It’s been easier since then, now that her joints and stomach don’t ache as much.

“Yes. Dead. Frozen. Eaten probably.” Charles flicks another scrap into the fire. The flame flickers a little, then the new piece catches and the fire grows brighter.

“No... In my own time.” Kate retorts.

He pauses his carving, sticking his knife into the brittle wood of the wall for a moment, “The concept is still ridiculous. You know that, right? Traveling through time in a blizzard. I know nature has many secrets to uncover, but I doubt it is capable of something so…” He begins to make a gesture to exaggerate his point. 

“Yeah. Ok. Fine. Whatever…” She interrupts, “I get it. No matter how many times I tell people the truth, no matter the proof I have… Nobody will listen.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve listened plenty.” Charles tosses a few more stray chips into the fire, plucking his knife from the wall and continuing to whittle after making his point.

“Yeah? And You and everyone else thinks I belong in an asylum. I don’t know if I’ll even survive long enough here to get stuck in one. I’m practically useless, even with all my basic knowledge. I can barely ride a horse, I’ve only really shot a bolt-action rifle, certainly not at anything _alive…_ I can barely even move in these damn skirts!” She huffs and buries her face against her knees, frustrated.

“Well, there’s only one way to remedy that, Ms. Katherine.”

“ _How?”_ The pale green fabric of her skirts muffles her reply.

“We’re going to teach you. Not everyone learned to be the way they are in a night. In time, someone’ll teach you to ride, hunt, shoot, and hell, maybe even scam people out of their money. But you need to trust us, ok? I know that might be hard to do, considering everything you went through to get to us, but you need to have faith. Not just in Dutch, or me or Arthur, or anyone, you need to have faith that _you_ can do all these things. Understand?” Charles smiles at her, trying to balm her insecurity with kindness.

There’s a quiet response, “Ok.”

“See? Easy.” He gets up, sheathing his knife and sitting next to her. “You know what? _I’ll_ teach you to hunt, as soon as we’re off this mountain.”

She flops over and leans against his side, “You promise, Charles?”

“Absolutely. But you have to promise me something too; if I let you go right now; you have to a swear that you won’t run. You’ll just end up here with us again, it’s fate at this point.”

“It’s Arthur and his stupid strong arms. Not fate.” She grumbles, “But I promise. Running won’t get me anywhere, except back here.”

“Alright. Let’s untie you and see if we can’t get you to hold down some breakfast.” Charles deftly unties all the knots Arthur left her in. The ropes fall from her wrists and ankles and she rubs them; the spots where the knots were tightest are tender and red. Kate looks at Charles for a second, pressing her lips together tightly, before wrapping her arms around his trunk of a chest.

“I forgot to say thank-you for your coat… You coulda froze to death instead of me…”

Charles is shocked into stillness briefly before hugging her back. It’s been a long time since anyone displayed this kind of brazen affection to him. It warms him, and he pats her back lightly, “Don’t worry about me. Smith men are tough.” He lets her go and gives her the tiny figure he sculpted. It’s a bear, very simple, but unmistakable, “Here. This is for you. The mother bear will give you strength and ferocity, but also encourages you to have warmth, rest, and love when you need it. Keep her in your pocket.” He winks.

Kate feels her cheeks heat up a little and she looks away, storing the little totem in her apron pocket for safekeeping. “Love? A bear?”

Charles stands and offers her his hand. She takes it and is hoisted up to standing, grabbing Teddy and tucking him under her arm, “You’d be surprised what animals have to teach us.” He opens the door into the cold.

The air has stilled significantly in the past four days and little bits of sunshine peek through the clouds, offering a little bit of warmth to them both. Kate grips onto her skirts out of nerves and trudges through the melting snow right behind Charles, it’s a short walk to Pearson’s setup, and she waves hello to the cook when they get close.

“Hey, look who’s out of jail.” Pearson chuckles lightheartedly, “Ready to try and eat again, Ms. Katherine?”

She nods, goes on a hunt for her little tin bowl and spoon, and holds it out for him to fill. The stew instantly warms up her hands. She nods her head at Pearson to say thank you and finds a dry-ish log to sit on and eat her portion.

Charles pats her shoulder, “I’m headed off, okay?”

“Why? Where are you going?” There’s a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Not far, don’t worry. I’m just taking Taima out for a ride. She’s getting antsy cooped up in the stable. Just stay here and eat slowly. Maybe someone’ll come by to keep you company.”

“Bye Charles… Be safe.”

“I- Yeah. I’ll be safe.” And with that, Charles takes off to the stable to get Taima saddled and ready for their ride.

Kate sighs and stares into her stew. Venison and rabbit. No vegetables, hardly any flavor. She takes a bite. Then another, and another. It’s terrible tasting, but this time there is no nausea and corners of her mouth twitch into a little smile. Better already.

_‘Thank you, mama bear.’_

Her sweet thought is interrupted by a tight pressure around her middle, “Kate!”

“Hi- Jack… Don’t squish me too hard. The food is supposed to stay in this time…” This isn’t the first time Jack has popped up and squished her, the first time was on Abigail’s first watch, day two of living in camp. She brought Jack with her, as nobody else would watch him. Jack made friends with Kate quickly, because of her passion for storytelling and his eagerness to soak in new things. Who cares if she spoiled Star Wars half a little more than half a century before it’s release? It’s not as if the kid would likely be alive to see it… And if he was… Well, he’d be a senile old man long before. And how could she say no to those big puppy-dog eyes when he begged her to tell him a “future story.” Yeah. That’d been through the rumor mill already, Jack was the only one who cared to believe her.

Kate snaps out of her thoughts when he apologizes.

“Oh- Sorry. I missed you, ‘cause I thought you were running away again.” Jack releases her from his little five-year-old python grip.

“I tried, believe me. But Uncle Arthur had other ideas. Again.”

“It’s cause Uncle Dutch wants you to stay here. He thinks you’re spu-spish-us. But I don’t. You’re nice, and you tell me good stories. I already heard all the ones Uncle Hosea has.”

“Suspicious, Jack, and I know what Uncle Dutch thinks of me. So, let’s keep pretending that I’m valuable so he doesn’t shoot me, ok?”

He giggles, envisioning the situation like a fairy-tale, “So... You’re like a princess in a locked tower, and Uncle Dutch is the mean king keeping you there?”

“Exactly. And Uncle Arthur is the smelly old dragon that won’t let me get away. So, what does that make you, little Marston?” She asks, another smile teasing her mouth. Jack is so sweet; it’s hard to feel upset with his little sunshine-self nearby.

“I’m the knight!”

“And a fine knight you make. You gonna rescue me from that stinky dragon?”

“Yes!” Jack responds gallantly, putting his hands on his waist and lifting his chin up proudly, then he picks up a twig and slashes it around in the air like a sword, defending Kate from invisible dragons.

“Ja-ack!” Abigail hollers for him, coming around the side of a building.

He drops his twig and knightly pose, “What, Mama?”

“Don’t bother Ms. Katherine, alright?” She scoops Jack up to hold him at her hip, “And don’t run off from me neither. You could end up like your daddy, face all ate up by wolves.” She scolds.

“But I wasn’t gonna go _far_ , mama!” He whines.

“It’s alright, Abigail. Jack just wanted to say hi. I don’t mind.”

“And I wanted to hear more about Luke and Leia and Han! But I got distracted, ‘cause I was happy she didn’t run away.”

“You and those star-knights, Jack, I swear…” Abigail shakes her head softly, “We’ve got chores to do. Say bye now, ok? Sorry, again, Kate if he’s bothering you.”

“Okay, Mama… Bye, Ms. Katherine.” Jack waves a little, and Kate waves back.

“It’s alright, Abigail. He’s sweet and keeps me distracted.” She responds to Abigail, next addressing Jack, “When you’re all finished with chores, you can come visit, ok? I’ll tell you what happens next.”

Jack wiggles excitedly in Abigail’s arms, “Okay!” And the pair head off.

Kate finishes off her stew, cold now, and cleans out her bowl with some snow, and returns it to the other dishes for proper washing. She settles, standing in a patch of sun and watches the camp go about its business. Dutch and Hosea are bickering over something, Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen are helping Ms. Grimshaw with the washing. Out on the edges of camp, Bill, Lenny, and Javier are keeping a lookout, Uncle is asleep, leaning back against a wagon, Micah is thankfully out scouting on-foot, and- where is Arthur?

Kate looks around and finally spots him, he’s just laid down an axe, and he’s stretching, flexing some feeling back into his fingers. Cutting wood. Distracted. A little part of her shrieks that she should make a break for it again. He can’t catch her if he’s tired from working. But then there’s the other part of her that remembers her promise to Charles. She puts her hand into her apron pocket and squeezes the little bear, silencing the fearful parts of her mind. She stares Arthur down, steeling her resolve, and walks off

-0-

Arthur can feel her eyes on him again, but he ignores it. It’s not the first time she’s stared, and it won’t be the last. Besides, Kate has every right to be mad, it’s been four days, and six failed escape attempts. She must feel like a caged animal. So, let her look. If she gets violent, it won’t matter in the end. He’s much more powerful than her physically.

He wipes his brow from the sweat freezing there, and returns to chopping firewood, only to look up a couple seconds later and see that the girl has vanished from her vantage point.

“God dammit…” He mumbles to himself, figuring that she’s bolted again. He gets his lasso ready, just in case. Arthur starts where she was standing not too long ago and follows her bootprints in the snow for a little way until he hits the stable.

“Hi…” He hears a soft voice coming from one of the stalls inside, “Hi horse… Can I pat your nose? No? No- ok… but I will pat your neck… Hehe~ yeah, that’s the itchy spot isn’t it? Good boy…”

“You stealin’ horses, Morris? Ain’t gonna escape that easy.” Arthur pipes up, leaning against the side of the stall, having crept through the open door. The old straw on the floor sticks to the melted snow on his boots. The building creaks when he puts his weight on the post, and he fixes his posture immediately, so the structure doesn’t collapse with them and the horses inside.

She nearly jumps a foot in the air, spooking the poor stallion and ruffling the others, “Wh- Arthur! No! Leave me alone!”

“What the hell are you doing, then?”

“Petting a horse. Obviously. But you scared him...”

“Better stop foolin’ around with that one.” He points out after recognizing the coat of the animal, “‘Sides, I didn’t spook ‘im. _You_ did. Jumping outta your skin like that.”

Kate ignores that last part, “Who, this guy? He’s a big sweetie.” She coos and pets his side, trying to get the poor horse to settle a little.

“Yeah, Baylock’s alright, it’s just Micah you have to worry about.”

A look of dread passes over her face and she removes her hand in an instant, “This is _Micah’s_ horse?” Micah? Who’s already threatened her life _twice_?

“Yep. And I suggest, if you don’t want to lose fingers? Leave ‘im alone. If you want to be around the horses, you have to take care of them. I assume you know how to care for a horse. That something they still teach in the ‘future?’”

“ _Yes._ ” She says, crossing her arms indignantly. In fact, the extent of her equine knowledge was how to clean, feed, and saddle the damn things, aside from clumsily getting up onto one and making the beast walk.

“Good- then first things first, you can start on Silver Dollar.” Arthur points out a grey and white dappled mare, “She’s Hosea’s. He won’t kill you for touching her. Probably.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’re just gonna work? No complaining or nothing?” Arthur cracks a grin, teasing her.

Kate holds her posture, “Where’s a goddamn brush and a hoof pick?”

“Tenacious little spitfire, aren’t you? Borrow mine for now.” Arthur opens his satchel and passes her the brush and pick, “You’ll get something of your own if we get down the mountain.”

“Thank you.” Kate snatches the tools from his hands and walks over to Silver Dollar, gently patting her rump and side to let the horse know that she’s coming around the back and not to be afraid. “Hi, Silver…” The horse snorts in her face, determining the new person to not be a threat. Kate laughs a little, “Bless you!”

While she starts currying out the patches of dirt caked into the horse’s hair, Arthur stays in the stable, whipping out his journal to write a little and make a quick sketch of her profile.

“You like writing?” She asks, spotting him, suddenly curious. She’s seen the journal a few times, but never taken a look inside.

“Nothin- fantastical like that bullshit you tell Jack. I write what I see and experience.”

“So, a diary? Big tough man like you carrying around a diary?” Kate gets back at him for his teasing earlier with some of her own.

“It- it ain’t- it’s a _journal_. And you’re one to talk, Miss Missy, you been carrying around that stuffed bear like a fearful priest carries a bible!” He motions to the toy, which is currently sitting on an old mildewy bale of hay, watching the whole scene with its dark little eyes.

“Your point? The bible brings the priest comfort, Teddy brings me comfort. I don’t come close to death on a near daily basis, unlike you. Let me have my bear, and you can have your dumb diary. He’s- one of the only things I have left from home. So, lay off, asshole.” She brushes away the clumps of muddy horse hair onto the ground.

“Someone oughta teach you some manners, girl. Before you mouth off to the wrong man and get slapped the shit out of.” He approaches her, imposing, built like a brick wall.

She’s silent at that, shrinking away from him.

“Shit…” Arthur checks himself and takes a few steps back, “Shit- I didn’t mean it like that.”

Kate is still wide eyed, fearful, thankful for Silver Dollar standing in his way.

“There’s- There’s men out there, Kate, that aim to hurt women what act like you do. Most of the fellers in this gang don’t share my thoughts, but, Dutch discourages us from acting like savages toward women, unless it’s necessary…” Arthur trails off.

“Really digging your own grave there, Arthur Morgan…” Comes the quiet response from the corner of the stall. “There have always been men like that, and there will _always_ be men like that. And I’ve dealt with plenty, I’ll deal with more. So, yeah, I’m scared of you. You made your goddamn point. I know you can hurt me if you want. Piss off.” Silver Dollar shifts on her hooves a little, kicking up dust at the firm statement, getting a little antsy.

“I am _not_ one of those men.”

“Then why try and stuff me into a ‘perfect, well-behaved lady’ box for their benefit?”

“ _Because I’m protecting you from them!”_ You could hear a pin drop in the seconds that follow and then quickly end when Silver Dollar starts chuffing nervously and stamping her left forehoof, bringing up her back-right leg to kick. Kate re-angles herself to stay in the mare’s field of vision and carefully puts her hands onto Silver Dollar’s neck, shushing her, encouraging the mare to calm down.

“It isn’t your job to protect me… I’m not feeble anymore.” She murmurs after the horse begins to relax. “And I’m not going to try to run anymore either. I’ve accepted that this is gonna be my life for a while before I figure out how to get home.”

Arthur pulls the brim of his hat down over his eyes, quiet for a little, “Glad you’ve- come to agree with us… And- just- don’t listen to me. I’m a fool in men’s boots… Just take care of yourself, don’t act like an idiot. That’s all.” He pauses, “I apologize. I’ll uh- let you get on with it.”

“You’re a fool, but at least you’re earnest. See ‘ya around, Arthur…”

‘ _At least he tried to make up for his behavior, and at least he was well intentioned..._ ’ She thinks but shakes her head and gingerly tugs at Silver Dollar’s rear-left pastern to get her to lift up her hoof to scrape little bits of rock and mud away from her frog. ‘ _Good intentions don’t make a man good._ ’

Arthur awkwardly raises a hand in a gesture goodbye as Kate continues her task, and he returns back to the chopping-block. He splits more wood, releasing all his frustration at the situation into his axe. ‘ _Why can’t I ever say the right goddamn thing?! That girl is right to hate me…’_

“Arthur!” Dutch begins his approach.

“Now ain’t the time.” Arthur slams the axe down into the log serving as the chopping block, burying it in the soft wood, listening to Dutch anyway.

“Son, there is never a better time than this moment. Micah has returned to us from scouting. He found ‘em. Those bastard O’Driscoll Boys, and he swears Colm is with ‘em. And Arthur? They’re sitting on plans for somethin’ _big._ ” Dutch holds his gloved hands apart to show the gravity and hugeness of the situation.

“Big? How big? Last time we took Micah’s advice on a score, _Blackwater_ happened, or have you already forgotten?”

“I certainly haven’t!” Dutch claps his hands back together. “But this is old territory for us. It’s a _train_ , Arthur. They’re planning to rob a private train chock full of _bonds_. We just need to get in there, take their plans, and _maybe_ deliver Colm to his maker. We’ll have money again, and we can get moving west.”

“And who’s coming on this heist for a heist?” Arthur idly lights up a cigarette, uninterested.

“Oh, just our best men.”

“Our _able_ men.” He puffs out a stream of smoke into the chilled air, implying that John is one of their best.

“Don’t concern yourself with that detail. Its Mr. Williamson, Esquella, Bell, Summers, you, and I what’s going. Arthur, trust me.”

“Alright, Dutch.” He sighs, giving in, “Alright. I trust ya- Just… Let me get the horses from Kate and we’ll head out.”

“Kate has them?” Dutch raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms.

Arthur takes another drag, “Yeah?”

“May I ask _why_ the girl that keeps trying to run out on us is with our horses?”

“She ain’t runnin’ no more, Dutch. She’s actually started pulling some weight. Cleaning them.”

“Well I’ll be damned. Good work, boy, putting some spirit back into the poor girl.” Dutch smacks him on the back, “Why don’t we go together for the horses? Maybe she’ll help saddle ‘em too.”

Arthur tosses his cigarette butt into the snow when he finishes up and follows Dutch, who’s already far ahead of him.

When they both reach the stable, Kate is hoof-picking The Count, Dutch’s pure white Arabian stallion, who is infamous among the other gang members for not letting folks other than Dutch himself ride or touch him.

“Well well, looks like he’s got another soft spot.” Dutch grins, crossing his arms over his chest, mildly impressed with the girl.

“I doubt it. He wouldn’t let me near him until I gave up some of my crackers… And my sugar cube I was saving from the bit of tea we had yesterday.”

“Accepting bribes now, eh?” Dutch comes around the other side of The Count and pats the stallion’s neck.

“Barely. I’ve nearly gotten kicked twice.”

“That’s my boy. Still, Old Count don’t usually let folks touch him.”

“Guess I’m not near as threatening as folks, Mr. Van der Linde.” Kate lets go of the hoof and scoots out of the stall.

He chuckles at that, “You certainly ain’t, Ms. Kate. Certainly not… Now, if you’ll excuse Mr. Morgan and I, we need to steal away some of your clientele.” He takes the Count’s lead and backs him up.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Out hunting. Nothin’ too exciting.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “Hunting O’Driscoll Boys, maybe.” Arthur takes his horse, Victor, from the stall next to The Count’s, followed by Brown Jack, Maggie, Boaz, and Baylock, one by one out into the open air to be tied off to a post and saddled.

“Oh- so… you… might get shot.”

“It’s a risk we love to take, my dear. Now help us saddle up.” Says Dutch, passing her with a blanket and saddle in his arms.

“I- sure.” Kate removes several pieces of tack from the walls, learning each horse’s name and their rider in turn as Dutch instructs her through _proper_ tacking, because she’s saddling them like one would do for donkeys. When he’s sure Kate has it right, he goes to rally the others.

“So…” Arthur begins, “I didn’t know you knew sort-of how to saddle a horse. Where did you learn ‘in the future’, considering you’ve continually called yourself useless?”

“Arthur… Please drop it. I know you don’t believe me… But uh- sure. I’ll tell you about it. Just give me a second to think of how to word it.”

She thinks to herself for a bit; how _would_ one explain working for a western-lore themed Scout camp to an actual outlaw who is LIVING the life she pretends to for three months out of the year? “Uh…” She begins, making sure the straps are tight, but not chafing on each of the horses, “I work for a big ranch out in New Mexico every once in a while. Lots of people are allowed to use that land to set up camp, and uh, well… Live out there for a while. The other men and women I worked with ran a very small portion of the ranch and looked over a specific spot of land whenever people would come by with their camp. We had our own little brood of animals. Chickens, a cow, goats, and a couple burros. So- I learned how to saddle a burro from that… This isn’t too different.” Kate explains, stumbling awkwardly though her explanation where she needs to edit down her job description.

Arthur nods, makes sense to him, and it isn’t any crazy ‘future’ bullshit, so maybe the poor girl is coming to her senses, “And yet, you can’t ride.”

“I can walk a horse.”

“Yeah, that ain’t gonna be enough. You need to learn. I can’t cart you everywhere on Victor. It’ll wear him out.”

The others that are heading out with Dutch and Arthur join them at the stable, finishing up whatever tacking was left to do, storing weapons and ammunition, lassos, lanterns, and little tonics. They each mount up without so much as a thank-you.

The most she gets is from Micah, who sneers and says, “Good girl. Makin’ yourself useful for once.”

Arthur finishes something up in his journal and is about to climb onto Victor, when Kate gently pulls at the back of his coat. He looks around at her, “You want somethin’?”

“Be safe.” She looks up at him, genuine concern in her eyes, “… Please.”

“I- alright. Just- don’t start cryin’.” He frowns a little. Why does she care? Doesn’t she hate him?

She nods a little and releases his coat. Arthur mounts Victor and adds a little something more to his journal then packs it away before Dutch yells, “Alright, boys! Move out!”

He gives The Count a swift kick to the sides and taking off with the rest of his men falling in behind him.

-0-

_Dutch, Lenny, Micah, Bill, Javier and I are headed out. With some scouting we managed to find where Colm and the rest of the O’Driscolls are holed up. They’re apparently planning something big, and we need that money more than they do, that’s for sure. Dutch says it’s a plan for a train robbery. We’ll see._

_…_

_Before I mounted the horse that I saved from The Adler Ranch, whom I’ve taken to calling Victor, there was a little tug on my coat. Kate was there, looking worried, even after our argument this afternoon. All she said:_

_“Be safe.”_

_Be safe… Like she was trying to bless me, despite the violence we all knew was coming. Soft and earnest. Be safe._

_I’ve decided for her sake, I will be._


	3. Colter, Train Robbery and Other Pasttimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan is set in motion: there will be a train robbery, and Kate is a part of the plan, much to the dismay of several gang members.
> 
> Kate talks to a prisoner, gets a riding lesson, and holds up a train car.
> 
> Arthur is beginning to feel things he would sooner crush deep down into his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy there again, fellas. It's me!
> 
> Please feel free to give me constructive criticism. I had a tougher time getting the feel of the chapter right in my mind.
> 
> Next time, we're moving to Horseshoe Overlook and the seriousness of the situation is going to drop off for a while.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks. I really appreciate it. Please! feel free to send in some outlaw shenanigan suggestions for me to write. 
> 
> Love y'all.

_Colter_

_May 23 rd, 1899_

_Going to the O’Driscoll camp was nearly a bust. Colm had already run off, we took heavy fire and one prisoner. Thank God we found that hunk of dynamite and the place they were intending to pull the heist off. It’s happening tonight. We’re filling our pockets with railroad bonds from a man by the name of Leviticus Cornwall and getting off this damn mountain about noon tomorrow. Hosea’s said it’s thawed enough to move the wagons, and that there’s a spot in the Heartlands called Horseshoe Overlook, nice and hidden, and a little ways away from a livestock town called Valentine. We’ll be moving the gang there._

_Speaking of the prisoner… He’s a little scraggly rat of a man called Kieran. He says he ain’t valuable to Colm and doesn’t know anything of consequence. We all know he’s lying. Three new people in less than a week… It’s ridiculous._

_Kate’s on rotation to keep an eye on him for now, seeing as she’s pretty good at watching folk. I saw her talking to him, doesn’t treat him like he’ll kill us all in our sleep if we let him go. I think it’s because she can relate to his situation. If Kate gets that O’Driscoll to talk about Colm or anything gang-related, everyone’ll probably ease up on her being here._

_Before we go on the heist, I think I’ll teach her how to ride. If we’re moving out tomorrow, she needs to know something about getting an animal to do what she says. Besides, Dutch said he wants me relaxed before the main event, and with the O’Driscoll Boys running off to follow Colm, we have the mountain to ourselves._

-0-

“Hi Kieran.” She says as his eyes flutter open. This time, Kate is the one in the chair instead of hogtied and wriggling on the floor of the old kitchen in Arthur’s cabin. She’s gotta say… It looks pretty pathetic, and it embarrasses her that she was in this exact situation only a day ago. This isn’t her first time watching him, she was also in the cabin the night before with Arthur on his turn, she spoke a little with him then, despite Arthur telling her not to.

His voice is shaky, riddled with anxious tells, “You here to bully me too? I told y’all already… I don’t know anything! Just leave me alone, ‘cause I ain’t an O’Driscoll!” He weakly attempts to spit at her, but he’s far too dehydrated to produce anything of substance.

Kate gets up and tries to get him into a sitting position. The ground is too cold to keep laying on directly. He needs to preserve warmth through his head and core, “Then what are you?”

“A Duffy- Kieran Duffy. A stable-boy. I was just tryin’ not to die, alright? So what if I fell in with the wrong gang? That ain’t a crime!”

“Unfortunately, they do this with everybody they think is suspicious. I was where you are only a day ago.”

“Then why ain’t you tied up?”

“Guess I’m not a threat.” She shrugs dismissively, “And I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking to you Mr. Duffy. Sorry…”

The silence that follows lasts all of five minutes before they start chatting again about Kieran’s history as a stable-boy and how Kate has been relegated to the very same job for the Van der Linde gang. They have a good laugh about that. They both go on about their lives before their respective captures and start developing a rapport for one another. Just being able to talk to someone about inane everyday things with the hogtied man is actually a little therapeutic. This is exactly what she needed after days of fear and silence.

The tone shifts however, when Kate recounts her time in the shack and the apparent time-travel. Kieran listens, mostly confused, but he tries not to be skeptical.

“I don’t know if days are passing like they would at home. I don’t know if people think I’m lost or dead or anything… It would have been my brother’s nineteenth birthday yesterday…”

“Do you miss him?”

“Yeah. I do. And I miss not having to shit outside in a hole. And FUCK, I MISS PIZZA.”

Kieran doesn’t ask what pizza is. Probably for the best. Kate continues, “And I wish someone other than a five-year-old boy would believe me! I’m tired of people thinking I belong locked up somewhere. Been there, done that, got the goddamn pills for it.” She sighs and rubs her eyes.

“Well…” Kieran shifts a little, “I’ll believe you, ‘cause you believe me about not being an O’Driscoll.”

“Thanks… that’s actually kind of the nicest thing someone’s said to me since I got here... I just wish I had some steady sunlight, then I could charge my phone and give these assholes some _proof_. Maybe _then_ they’d believe me.”

“You- have a-?”

“It’s too complicated to explain.”

“Right…” He leans his head back against the wall, “We’ve both really been through it these last couple days, huh?”

“No argument there.” There’s a lull in their conversation after that, they sit in a slightly more comfortable silence with one another before Kieran speaks up again.

He clears his throat, “I know _one_ thing that they might like hearing.”

“You know they won’t release you if you say anything, right?”

“I know… But they might go easier on you if you tell ‘em, Ms. Kate.” He leans forward a little, trying to scoot a bit closer to her chair.

“Kieran, you don’t have to tell me anything. Seriously. Things are fine as they are.”

“I beg to differ. This is about trust, and I trust you. Otherwise what was that entire conversation for? You don’t deserve these folks pushing you around and treating you poorly ‘cause of something they don’t understand.”

“Then why don’t you tell them yourself?” She asks.

“If I tell them the one thing, they’ll think I have more and that their method of interrogation is the right way to do things. If _you_ tell them, they’ll trust _you_ to get information out of me...” He begins explaining but trails off.

“I so I get the gang’s trust, and you’ll get beaten less because I’ll be in charge of making you talk?” Kate finishes for him.

“Exactly!”

Kate thinks on it a bit. There are so many ways that this could turn bad for the both of them, but right now, Kieran is kind of the only real friend she’s made, aside from Jack. It took trust to tell him about the blizzard and what happened to her, so he’s trusting her with this.

She nods, “Ok. You can tell me.”

Kieran motions for her to come closer with his chin. She kneels down next to him, tensing, ready to run if he tries anything.

“Hanging Dog Ranch.”

“What?”

“That’s all I’ll say.” He shakes his head.

Suddenly, the door flies inward, “Ms. Kate, step _away_ from the O’Driscoll.” It’s Dutch. Kieran whines softly and scoots himself back into the corner, “Shift is over. Has been for half an hour, and Arthur wants to see you.”

“That’s right, girl, move on out. It’s my turn to play with him.” There’s a dark little laugh from behind Dutch, where Micah is standing in his shadow.

Kate doesn’t say anything and slips out of the cabin, giving Kieran an apologetic look over her shoulder as Dutch closes Micah inside.

“Dangerous man, Ms. Kate.” Dutch catches her by the shoulders as she starts leaving, wheeling her around to look directly at him. She shivers a little under his intense gaze, “You coulda been hurt, and that’s no good for anyone.” He rumbles, tone low and dark.

“I don’t think he’s a threat. He just seems scared, Mr. Van der Linde.” She mumbles, wanting to squirm away from his hold.

“An animal will attack when scared, and man is only an animal capable of complex thought.” He says, squeezing tighter.

Kate admits what Kieran told her to try and get Dutch off of her, “He only wanted to tell me something.”

“Is that so? What’d that snake-in-the-grass say?” The grip loosens a little bit, but he doesn’t release.

She averts her gaze from him opting to look at the snow slush near their boots, “Hanging Dog Ranch? I don’t know what that means-“

Dutch interrupts, a grin growing on his face, “Good god, girl, what did you do to him to make him give _that_ up?”

“What- what is it?” Kate looks back up, questioning, almost fearful.

“Sweetheart,” He says cupping her cheek in his gloved palm, “ _That_ , could very well be where Colm is hiding.”

She thinks, ‘ _Oh… Kieran… Why would you ever give that up?’_

“Is that good?” Is what comes from her mouth instead.

“One of the best things we could have heard. _Very_ good job, young lady.” Kate can feel her heart beating out of her chest like a frightened little bunny staring down a hungry fox, “In fact,” he continues, “Since you’ll be staying with us for some time before we find your home, and got that little golden nugget from the O’Driscoll, I think you’re ready for your first heist as part of our gang.”

“Mr. Van der Linde- I’m honored, really, but I’ve never- I don’t even know how to fire a pistol. It’s only been five days- none of the other women are coming-”

“Nonsense.” He interrupts again, “Consider this a test, so we know you’re ready to join our family. I guarantee, you won’t have to fire a single bullet.” He can see it perfectly. The dynamite stops the train, his men hold the conductor, the law, and any passengers hostage robbing the train as normal, shooting if necessary, Kate slips in and out to get the bonds out of Cornwall’s private car while the train is stopped and everyone else is distracted, quiet as a mouse, unsuspecting. Just a girl as frightened as the rest of the passengers trying to get away from the men with guns. The law already knows the faces and names of the women in the gang, but not her. She gets off the train and goes to a pickup point where she and the bonds are collected and returned to camp. This plan is infallible.

He removes his hands completely and Kate backs away, “Have some faith, Ms. Morris. I would never steer you wrong. Now, run off and find Arthur, he was bothering me about not being able to find you. Says it’s important.”

“I- ok. Thank you, Mr. Van der Linde…” Kate realizes she doesn’t have much say in the matter, and turns to go find Arthur, not wanting to incur any of Dutch’s anger.

‘ _Good girl_ ,’ he thinks, watching her go and pull the borrowed coat tighter around her body, ‘ _She’s rude, yes, but what woman in the gang isn’t? And she’s obedient, which is all I can ask for.’_

-0-

“There you are, I was startin’ to worry that you’d actually run off this time.” Arthur jokes. He’s near the stables leading Victor in one hand and Solver Dollar in the other.

“Does Hosea know Silver is out?”

“What Hosea doesn’t know won’t kill ‘im. I hope…”

“Why’d you get her out anyway?”

“You, Ms. Katherine, are about to receive the finest riding instruction the west has to offer right here on Mt. Hagan. Saddle up.”

“Arthur… I appreciate the gesture, really… But with what Dutch just told me, and now this? I think I’m going to crawl out of my own skin from nerves.”

“Hold on. What did Dutch tell you?”

There’s a brief pause before she answers, “I- Dutch wants me on the heist. I don’t know why.”

Arthur’s face expression darkens, “That damn old fool…”

“It’s not like I could refuse! I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to get shot, and I don’t want to hurt people! He said I won’t have to, but I don’t really believe that.”

Arthur is stone silent. Dutch always gets what he wants, but this girl, after only five days with the gang is _not_ ready for her first heist. Especially not a train full of armed guards! Telling Dutch no on this could seriously damage what little peace they have in the group. Arthur battles with the conflict inside himself before settling on his reaction, “When we get back, I’ll have a word with him. Get on the horse, Kate. You need to learn, because tonight you might have to ride for your life if Dutch don’t listen to reason.”

She takes a deep breath and approaches Silver Dollar in her field of vision, letting the mare sniff her hand before getting a couple light pats. Kate takes the reins from Arthur and loops them back over the horse’s head. She eyes the stirrup and slides her foot into it, grabs onto the horn of the saddle and gives a couple test hops before really putting her weight into it and swinging her other leg over Silver Dollar’s back. Her skirts bunch up awkwardly and look a little like pants now that she’s got a good seat.

“Done? You need to learn how to do that in one motion. Don’t hesitate. Hesitating gets you killed.” Arthur does the same thing fluidly, sitting up tall on Victor, “Now go on. Get her to walk.”

Kate gives Silver Dollar a little squeeze with her legs and makes a clicking sound with her tongue, and sure enough, the mare walks forward, “See? I’m just fine.”

“Maybe for someone Jack’s age. Squeeze harder and hold on.”

“I don’t know…”

“Do it.”

Kate squeezes into the mare’s sides a little harder and maintains the tightness, and she breaks into a trot.

“You look like you’re constipated. Relax. She can sense that you’re panicking, and she won’t handle properly if you’re panicking.” Arthur keeps the pace alongside her as they ride out of camp.

More deep breaths. Relax. Just stay loose, but maintain posture.

“There. Now give her a good kick.”

“What? No! I’m not going to kick an animal!”

“Then you’ve gotten shot, cause you’re just on a leisurely amble through the woods. Kick her!”

Kate groans, uncomfortable, but does as Arthur asks, giving the horse a small kick to her side, maintaining pressure with her thighs as they break into a light canter together. The sudden shift in speed makes her shriek and she white knuckles the reins. The snow is flying up around both her and Arthur as they move along the path up over the mountain. Silver Dollar whinnies and snorts.

“Jesus, quit bein’ a baby and do it again! Harder! She needs to know that it’s time to get movin’!”

“Arthur I can’t!”

“You can, and you damn well will, Morris! I’m right behind you!”

Kate steels her nerves and pictures the little bear buried in her pocket. Ferocious. Brave. Strong. She refuses to be useless, and with a hearty, “HYAA!” She kicks hard and Silver Dollar takes off properly. There’s a moment of euphoria, that bubbles up inside of her, the wind whips at her face and clothes stinging her eyes and skin, her body aches with the strain of keeping posture and the movement of the horse under her, and she starts laughing wildly as she and Arthur both gallop through the snow.

Arthur can’t help grinning from ear to ear. There’s little feeling in the world so good as the elation one feels while riding a horse properly, especially for the first time like this. He can tell that Kate can feel it, her first true taste of the unrestricted freedom that Dutch and the rest of the gang can give her, the wildness of her soul shining through all her doubt and fear. He’s so lost in thought it barely registers that Silver Dollar has come to a screeching halt and thrown Kate headfirst into the snow, but he comes back to himself when he hears her land and groan in pain. The mare has her ears pinned back, she snorts and stamps. Arthur slows Victor and hops off.

“You alright, Morris?” He asks, giving her a once-over.

“Nothing feels broken… Fuck- why’d she throw me like that?” She thanks her lucky star that the snow took the brunt of her impact and that she managed to cover her head as she landed.

“Probably rode her too hard for too long.” Arthur scans the tree line, keeping an eye out for predators, “At least we know you _can_ ride.”

“Proud of me?”

“Ehh… Maybe a little. But don’t tell nobody.”

Kate laughs and lays back in the snow with a little crunch, adrenaline still singing in her veins, “Don’t worry Mr. Morgan, your secret pride in my small victory is safe with me.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and offers her a hand to stand up, “Don’t you think you’re tempting death again just lyin’ there collecting more ice?”

“Oh maybe.” She takes his hand and he easily pulls her up, “But I know you won’t let me die.” She dusts herself off.

“You really think that highly of me? Terrible mistake on your part.” He chuckles and whistles for both horses to come back.

“Exactly. Mister, ‘I’m protecting you.’ You, despite everything, give half a damn about me.” Kate sneakily scoops up some snow and packs it into a ball while his back is turned.

“You have grown on me, I’ll admit. Like a fungus.” He gives both horses half an oatcake each for their trouble.

“A good fungus like yeast, maybe.” Kate hucks the snowball at Arthur’s back and it explodes in a satisfying shower of white.

“Did-? Oh you little _shit._ ” He turns around with this predatory little smile on his face.

Kate puts her hands on her hips, “What’re you gonna do about it, cowboy?”

Arthur moves to get up close and personal with her and lowers his voice into a playful growl, “Revenge, sweetheart, is coming your way. You may not know where, you may not know when, but I’m gonna get you. ~”

She giggles nervously from his closeness and the warmth of his breath at her ear and neck and pushes on his chest to get him out of her space, thankful that the cold air turned her face red way before this, “Sure you will... C’mon, we need to get back. I’ll even race you this time.”

“You sure about that? Next time Silver Dollar might throw you right into a rock.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take if I still have to go on the heist.”

“Fine by me, but I ain’t movin’ your corpse.” Arthur mounts back up on Victor, Kate follows, still giving an awkward hop or two before she manages to get on Silver Dollar, “Ready?” he asks.

“We’ll see. ~” She gives Silver Dollar a swift kick, this time paired with a, “Giddyap!” As she takes off towards camp.

“Oh, it’s on, little girl!” And Arthur follows behind them, racing back towards everybody. Deep inside his chest, his heart feels warm.

-0- 

Hours after the pair return to camp as dusk begins to set in, Arthur steps into the cabin where they’re holding John. The other man is still bedridden and looking worse for wear. By the bedside, their resident holy man, Reverend Swanson, is sitting in a chair, having a conversation with him as Arthur walks in out of the cold evening. The fireplace crackles softly.

“I thought you was reading him his last rites. Now I see you’re introducing him to your other passion.” The reverend stands from his chair and scoffs a little.

“I’ll mind you to show me some respect, Mr. Morgan.”

“Mind away, Reverend.” Arthur waves Swanson away dismissively as he walks out, then turns to John, sidling up next to the bed, “You still here then?”

“I owe you.” John murmurs, shifting a little.

Arthur occupies the seat that the Reverend just abandoned, “And you’ll pay me- but for the moment, just rest.”

The door swings open again, and in walks Dutch slamming the door behind him, carrying a map of the area where the heist is to take place, “Arthur,” he begins, “I think it’s time for the train.”

“Want me to come?” John starts pushing himself up.

“Of course I do, but… Look at you.” He says sympathetically, gesturing to the bloody bandages covering half of John’s face.

“I was always ugly, Dutch. It’s just a scratch.” John coughs lightly and manages to sit up.

“Lie still, son.” Dutch warns as the door opens again on Abigail and Jack, “Hello, Abigail, Jackie.” He greets. Arthur stands when Abigail and Jack enter, moving to accommodate them.

“Dutch.” She returns politely, “The boy wanted to see you, John.”

“He’s seen me now…” John sighs, “Or what’s left of me… What about you?”

“Guess I was hopin’ to see a corpse.” She says bitterly.

John huffs out a laugh and lies back down, “Bide your time, you’ll see plenty of them.”

“You are a rotten man, John Marston!” She snaps at him.

“He is an _idiot,_ Abigail, we all know it.” Dutch defuses the situation before lifting up the map, motioning for Arthur to follow him as he pushes open the door, “Now, railway men. Bill, now you ride ahead and set the charge at the water tower just before the tunnel.”

“Ain’t a problem.” Bill mounts up on Brown Jack and sets off with the explosives.

“ _Why_ are we doing this?” Asks Hosea, marching up to the posse and broadly gesturing at the horses and men, “Weather’s breaking, we could leave _now._ I- I thought we was lying low?”

Dutch responds, exasperated, continuing to pack The Count, “What do you want from me, Hosea?”

Seeing that this conversation is going nowhere constructive, Hosea turns to leave, “I just don’t want any more folks to die, Dutch.”

“We’re livin’, Hosea, look at me, we’re _livin’_ … Even you.” He reaches a hand for his old partner’s shoulder and misses, “But we need money, everything we have’s in Blackwater. Fancy headin’ back there?” He throws a thumb over his shoulder.

Hosea turns back to face him, “No.” He admits bitterly, “Listen, Dutch, I ain’t trying to undermine you, I just… I just wanna stick to the plan, which was to lie low, then head back out west. Now, suddenly we’re about to rob a train, using a girl, whom we know is barely capable of robbery, much less riding a horse or shooting a pistol, as fodder.”

“What choice have we got?” Dutch replies solemnly, resting a hand on The Count’s rump to keep the stallion calm during the argument, “She is our best chance at pulling this off with no more deaths of our own men.”

“Leviticus Cornwall is no joke, Dutch, he’s…-” Hosea begins.

Arthur interrupts, “Who _is_ Leviticus Cornwall?”

Hosea calmly answers, “He’s a big railway magnate, sugar dealer, oil man.”

“Well how good for him. Sounds like he has more than enough to share.” Dutch adds sarcastically.

“Dutch! -” Hosea exclaims, frustrated and mildly offended.

He ignores Hosea, “Arthur, go get the girl, she’s riding with you.” Then he turns to the rest of the gang and hollers, “Gentlemen! It is time to make something of ourselves! Get your horses ready, we have a train to rob!”

Arthur gives Hosea a sympathetic look before he goes to the cabin to pick Kate up.

“I’m going, aren’t I?” Kate is facing the fireplace, staring into the flames. Her heart is pounding.

“Wouldn’t even listen to me. I’m sorry. You have to go.”

“I…-” She starts, “Guess I should have seen this coming. All that talk about pulling my weight and earning my keep.” She turns to Arthur, hands clenched into fists, “I have to do it. That’s what life is. Doing shit you’re scared of and don’t want to do to survive. So, if I have to rob a train to not die on this mountain, I’m doing it.”

“Then let’s get a move on. The fellers are waiting for us.” Arthur admires the woman’s courage in this time, even if he can see her shaking. He holds the door open for her and they both head out to Victor and the rest of the men. Nobody makes a comment as Arthur puts her up on his horse, and then climbs in the saddle as well. Any word against her is against Dutch, though it doesn’t stop Micah from sneering in disgust and Charles from shooting a worried look her way.

They take off, Dutch expresses the details of the plan again to everyone, praising his men for having loyalty to him and their goal. Kate is ignoring it all until Arthur murmurs in her ear while Micah is complaining about the Blackwater money again.

“Listen, I know Dutch said you wouldn’t have to shoot anyone, but you need to take my revolver. All you need to do to fire it is pull back the little hammer in the back with your thumb, aim, and pull the trigger. You only get six bullets, use them wisely.”

Kate nods and leans to take the pistol from his belt. The metal of the gun is cold to the touch and she breathes out nervously. This is real. No more shooting targets in the woods with Grandpa. Lives are on the line, including hers.

They stop on a ridge overlooking the tracks, Bill is down nearby, tying explosives to the track.

“Arthur, go see if he needs help. Kate, stay up here with us.” Dutch commands. Kate slides off of Victor and Arthur trots down the hill to help with the dynamite.

“Awh, how cute. Cowpoke gave up his piece for her.” Micah jeers, noticing Arthur’s gun in her hand. Kate clutches the grip of the revolver tighter in her hand, “You even know how to shoot?”

“I know enough to shoot _you._ ” She grumbles. That gets a laugh from some of the other men.

“Ohoho ~ Looks like she’s got some _balls_ on her… Anyone ever actually check what this thing is? I can barely tell with its hair so short and the way it doesn’t whine about every-damn-thing like the other women. Ya’ll basically put a boy in a skirt.” He gestures to her, pointing out her broad shoulders and slim hips. Kate shrinks away from him a little and ends up standing right near The Count, where Dutch scoops her up to sit with him.

“Micah,” Dutch threatens, “You shut up, or go the hell back to camp. Focus on the heist. _She_ is a valuable resource.” That shuts Micah up, he only grumbles dismissively in response.

Dutch is incredibly warm, the dark fur coat he’s wearing absorbs every ounce of dying sunlight and heats the both of them comfortably. The way he has an arm across her stomach, keeping her on the stallion, forcing her back tight against his chest is overwhelming.

“What’s taking him so long…” Dutch mutters, “Train’ll be here any second…” But as soon as he says it, Arthur is on his way back up the hill to take his position with everyone else.

“Everybody? Masks on. We need to keep some anonymity.” Each of the men pulls up a bandana over their nose and mouth.

“Mr. Van der Linde?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need one. You’re our little mouse. On and off while everyone else is distracted.

“Right…”

The train whistle sounds, Bill moves into position to blow the tracks as it comes around the corner. He presses the plunger down and nothing happens. He tries it again and again, but the dynamite won’t blow, and the train passes right over it without a moment’s hesitation.

“Shit! Arthur, Lenny, Javier, jump onto the train as it comes out the tunnel on the other side! Micah, Charles, you’re with Kate and I on horses following behind! Stop that train, boys!” Dutch quickly shouts out commands.

Everyone springs into action, the three running around the bend of the hill to hop onto the train as it passes through the tunnel, while Dutch kicks The Count into high gear, taking off down the hill and after the train, Charles and Micah close behind them. Kate hears gunshots after they clear the tunnel and sees Javier whistling for Boaz. He must have fallen off, which means Arthur and Lenny are on the train taking out guards.

Dutch catches up to the back of the train and yells over the clatter of wheels on track, hoofbeats, and gunfire, “Lean down, take the reins! Guards are comin’ out the back I need free hands!”

Kate does as she’s told, keeping The Count’s course steady while Dutch takes out his rifle and fires into the guards crawling out of the roof, mowing them down one by one. Her heart is hammering in her ears. She feels nauseous, terrified even. But _alive._ The whistle sounds loudly again, and the train begins to slow.

“Slow up! I think Arthur and young Lenny have reached the conductor. Get ready to hop off.”

“Yes sir…” The train grinds to a halt and Dutch lets her slip off the horse and run to the intersection between the last two cars. Guards begin swarming out, but she holds up her hands, shivering and crying that she’s a passenger and was just trying to get away from the maniacs that stopped the train, milking her own fear into her act. She’s told to stay put and subsequently ignored. With that, she scoots into Cornwall’s private car through a smashed window and is greeted with three men, also cowering in fear. A man in spectacles, a man who is balding, and a man who has a blue waistcoat.

“Oh- Miss- you really shouldn’t be back here.” Pipes up the man wearing spectacles.

“Please,” She begs, “Please I was threatened by all those men I’m just trying to hide, _please,_ sirs.”

There’s a pause, the three men look at each other in brief deliberation, “… Alright madam. You’re safe in here. This is the most secure car on the train.” The balding man assures her.

“Thank you, …-” Kate wipes her eyes, having gotten all the anxiety about the situation out with her tears. Acting terrified is easy when you’re actually about to keel over from nerves.

“Is there anything we can get you, miss? Water? Tobacco? A little brandy to take the edge off?” The man in the blue waistcoat asks.

She sniffles and wipes more tears away, “Actually, now that I think about it?” Kate hopes to god that this trick actually works like it did in _Zombieland_ , and then continues in a deadpan tone, pulling out Arthur’s pistol and aiming it at them, “I need one of you to open the safe, the other to gather up every pocketable valuable in this train car, and I need the third one to give me the rail bonds.”

The men look at her, then at the gun, and start laughing, “What, just you?”

“You’re only a girl.”

“You can’t even pull the trigger on that thing!”

“I’m not fucking around! _Now!_ ” She yells, firing the gun into the roof of the car. The kickback numbs her arm and hurts her wrist, but she grits her teeth through it. So much for being a quiet little mouse. The men understand the threat and get to work. Outside, the last of the guards are killed. There’s a knock on the heavy iron doors on the side of the car.

“How’s it getting on in there?” Asks Dutch.

“Fine. Just fine. I made some friends and they’re being _really nice_ and helping me gather up everything.”

“Y-yes, ma’am, we are.” The safe opens up, and the bald man sighs in relief. His task is done. He’s off the hook.

“You. Baldy. Open up the door for my friends outside. Seems there’s a lot more than my sad weak little girl arms can carry.” She aims directly at him and he scrambles to open the door, fearing the worst. Arthur, Micah, and Lenny climb in. Micah herds the men off the train to an array of weapons pointed in their faces, while Arthur and Lenny clear the car of valuables and bonds, set out so nicely by the other two gentlemen.

Kate slumps back against the wall, and puts down the gun, shaking with all the extra adrenaline dumped into her system. Deep breaths. It’s over. You didn’t have to shoot anyone. The boys are taking care of everything.

“You ok, Ms. Katherine?” Lenny squats down next to her after grabbing all he can carry. She nods silently and he gives her a little pat on the shoulder, “The first one’s always the hardest. You get used to it. Ok? Now we gotta get up and get off this train.” Lenny stands up giving her one last consoling pat before leaving.

“Ok…” Trembling, Kate takes to her feet and stumbles off the train, and Arthur follows behind her, picking up his pistol.

“These of any value, Dutch?”

“Rail bonds. Sure they are, if we sell them to the right folks. Good work, gentlemen! Arthur? Deal with these cowards. Do whatever you want with ‘em and get rid of the train. We’ll be back at camp. Kate, you ride with Charles.”

She nods and Charles helps her up onto Taima. Everyone rides off but Arthur, who aims the gun at the three men and guides them back onto the train. Kate is silent the whole way back to camp and all the way through dinner. She doesn’t respond when anybody speaks to her, congratulating her for her work. And she doesn’t greet Arthur when he comes back to the cabin. She just sits in her sleeping bag, which is elevated off the floor with a second straw mattress she found, Teddy is clung tight to her chest.

Arthur sighs and sits next to her, “If I had a nickel for every time a plan of Dutch’s went sideways and we had to improvise, I’d own a whole state.” Getting no answer, he continues, “You did good for a first job. As big a job as that was, and since you did work, you get a piece of the money…” That didn’t work either; Kate is still deathly quiet, staring far off, “Come on… Give me something. You still in there, girl?”

“… I could have died tonight.” She says quietly after a long pause.

“Sure. But you didn’t.”

“I miss home… My brother… my cats… I could have lost all of it.” She nuzzles into the sparse brown fur on Teddy’s head, trying to get comfort from his smell.

“I’m sure they… Miss you too. We’ll get you home, Kate.”

She looks up at Arthur, “I don’t think I _can_ go home anymore. I don’t know if it’s possible. This is my life now. You are my family. And I don’t think I can do anything about it.”

“We ain’t so bad.” Arthur reaches into his coat and pulls out his flask, “Have some. It’ll help you sleep.”

She shakes her head in refusal, reaching into her sleeping bag and pulling out those strange pills from before. The bottle is dangerously empty.

“You sick?”

“Some could say that.” She admits.

“What with?”

“I- Guess… Perpetual melancholy. These help me not be so upset.” She takes two and dry swallows them.

“You need more.” He points out.

“Too bad they don’t make medicine like this until the 1950’s.” She stuffs the bottles back down in her bag.

“Not again with that time-travel crap.” Arthur puts his face into his palms and rubs at himself tiredly.

“Someday you’re gonna start believing me and feel like an awful fool.” There’s another long silence between the two.

“I’m- proud of you. So is Dutch.” He says, breaking the silence again.

“Sure… Being helpless is something I seem to be good at.”

“Helpless? You held up an entire train car _by yourself._ ”

“I’m just good at acting, then. They believed me when I was crying and begging to stay in the car for shelter from you all.”

“And then you shot through the roof and got them to collect everything for you. That ain’t helpless.”

Kate can feel tears rising in her eyes again. She turns and hugs Arthur tightly, hiding her face, “I was so scared...”

He awkwardly pets down her back, “We all were. Anyone who ain’t just a little cared before they pull a job is insane, or they have a deathwish. But you used the fear and funneled it all into finishing the job. That’s all you can do.” As he speaks, he realizes that her breathing has evened out, so he carefully detaches her arms from his middle and wraps her tightly in the bag. Arthur stands up and retires to his room, writing a journal entry before sleeping himself.

…

_Dutch is a fool for letting Kate come on the train job, but she survived, even made out well. She’s shook up from the whole experience. It’s dawned on me that she certainly wasn’t a criminal before we found her. I was about her age when I met Dutch, and I’d already robbed and murdered my way across a couple states. What she accomplished today must have taken a great toll on her mind and body. I almost feel bad for the poor girl. Wish I weren’t so useless at talking, but how do you comfort someone who most likely hasn’t seen a real day of violence in their life?_

_We’re moving camp tomorrow. I think a change of scenery should calm everybody down._


	4. Horseshoe Overlook, Eastward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the gang moves away from the bitter cold of Mt. Hagan and real camp life sets in for everyone.
> 
> Kate finally gets a bath and endures more teasing from Arthur. 
> 
> Lup appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Dad for suggesting I name my horse Chalupa. He wanted Chalupa Batman but we can only go so far, sir. He also suggested Artax and Shadowfax. Also great, but I thought Chalupa would be the best.
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful feedback. Love y'all.

_Horseshoe Overlook_

_May 24 th, 1899_

_We moved down to Horseshoe Overlook this afternoon. The air was still, the sun was high, and we packed the wagons and took off in near record time. I think everyone was ready to move on from Colter, and everyone pitched in, save for the O’Driscoll, who was tied and tossed in the back of the wagon Dutch was driving with Pearson along with John and his misfit family._

_Kate came with Hosea, Charles, and I. After she helped the women load their wagon, Dutch insisted she come with us since we only had the three people in ours. How were we to refuse? So, she squeezed in the back with Charles, while I sat driver, and Hosea sat shotgun._

_About midway down during a stream-crossing our wheel broke off. Charles and Hosea lifted the wagon, I set the wheel back in place, and Kate made sure to grab a basket that had started to float downstream. After everything was set in place, I caught her staring up at the ridge in the distance. I followed her line of sight and there were three men standing there. Indians. I suggested we get a move on quicker before things could take a turn for the worse, but Hosea claimed that they wouldn’t bother us as long as we didn’t start anything. Thankfully we were able to leave without much incident after that._

_Hosea was working on some medicine and Kate got curious, looking over his shoulder and asking questions. Her interest in the matter made Hosea soften toward her a little and dutifully explain the tincture he was making, like a patient father. He even let her have a turn at crushing up the ginseng and yarrow under the pestle. Watching her learn something new is like watching an excited puppy-dog wag its tail so hard it’s whole body shakes with the effort._

_I wonder where my passion for such small things went. Then again, she is still young and has few attachments. The longer she stays with us, I’m sure that won’t be the case._

_She’s been promised a day in town to get her own clothes and a horse. It’ll be cheap, but that’s all we can afford at the moment, but what with all the valuables we pulled from the train, if Dutch can find a good fence, maybe it won’t be so bad._

-0-

It’s about 8 am when Dutch makes the call to start packing and Ms. Grimshaw whips everybody into action. Kate takes care of her things first, packing everything as small as she can into her backpack. Ten essentials on top, Teddy, books, phone, and solar charger at the bottom. She has to admit, the pack is definitely lighter without any food in it. Kate swings it over her shoulder only to have it snatched off of her back.

“Hey!” She exclaims, wheeling around only to be face-to-face with Arthur.

“Hey yourself. Why in the hell are you putting this on?” He asks, shaking the bag a little, “We have wagons, you don’t need to turn yourself into a pack mule… I’ll throw it up on one, you can go help the others.”

“Fine- just be gentle. I have some valuables in there.”

“Sure. Now git.” Arthur shoos her off and packs the bag onto the closest wagon with space.

Kate spends the rest of the morning running go-fer errands for everyone in the camp, making sure nothing important is left behind, thoroughly sweeping every campsite and cabin for lost trinkets and evidence that they’d been there. By the end her boots are soaked through with snow, and her feet are cold and throbbing. Then, Ms. Grimshaw enlists her help in helping to load the ladies’ wagon. Her arms end up feeling like they’re near about ready to fall off from the strain of lifting heavy crates and canvas tents.

“Jesus, I didn’t know you was suited for heavy labor, girl.” Arthur teases as he walks by.

“Oh- you’d be surprised.” She retorts after lifting one last box into the back of the cart, short of breath.

“Just glad you’re doin’ more than Uncle.”

“Ha- Ha, Arthur.” She shoots him a poisonous glance. He waves her off and squelches through the slush to hook Victor up to Dutch’s wagon of choice.

John is lifted into the back of Dutch’s wagon and laid out next to Kieran, who’s been knocked out could for the trip. Jack and Abigail follow right behind John.

“Arthur, you’re in that one with Hosea and Charles. I know how you like to talk about the good old days and what’s wrong old Dutch, hell, bring the girl with you, Grimshaw’s wagon is stuffed.”

“Sure.” Arthur nods, a little miffed that he’s stuck with her again.

“Don’t take that tone. You’re still in charge of making sure she don’t run off.” The older man chuckles to himself and gets situated at the head of the train with Pearson riding shotgun, “Let’s go fellas! No use in wasting daylight!” Everyone climbs into their prospective wagons and onto their horses, and Arthur grabs Kate and helps her up into the back of his wagon.

The ride down the mountain is slow and bumpy, slick in some places. Miles of untouched snow-capping and evergreens guide them down the path, in some places, it’s barely big enough for one wagon to safely pass down. The sunlight on the snow is blinding, and the air is still chilled enough that the three men and woman can still see their breath fogging the air around them. During one of these narrow stretches, the sheer cliff to the right of their wagon forces Kate to close her eyes and take deep breaths, swearing at any particularly large bump or slip.

“You’ve got one dirty mouth on you, Ms. Kate.” Hosea states, “Anyone ever tell you it ain’t becoming of a young lady to use profanity?”

“As long as it keeps me distracted from the _fucking_ cliff we’re going down, I’ll have to pass on being a proper lady.”

Charles snorts a little in response, “Afraid of heights?”

“A little! It’s fifteen rolls to the bottom of that thing!” She hisses, pointing to the drop.

“Eh, we’ll all die by the third, if we’re lucky.” Arthur says, hoping it’ll shut her up so he can focus on driving the horses.

“Not helping, Arthur!” She shrinks down to the floor of the wagon to regain a hint of stability. She stays there for a good half hour before anyone speaks again.

“Alright, get up, we’re flat.”

“Oh, thank god…” Kate gasps and peeks back up. The snow is sparser here, the trees are far denser and budding green and yellow leaves. Tiny wildflowers and saplings line the trail, pushing their way out of the cold earth; she can hear birdsong and a rushing stream nearby.

“Woah…” The air is warmer now by a thin margin, and so fresh. She thinks back to her own time, in May, Mt. Hagan is bare, with the evidence of old logging operations and strip-mining trying to be swallowed up by new growth; the smog from Valentine City blankets the valley, destroying the endless view. Turning Hagan into a national park was a step in the right direction, but time and humanity had definitely taken its toll on the poor mountain. Distantly she can hear Dutch command Lenny and Micah to go out ahead.

Arthur gives a snap of the reins and pushes the horses through the stream, but as they’re pulling out from the water, there’s a big bump, a snap, and everybody jolts backwards. Crates and other various items are tipped from the wagon, onto the ground and into the stream.

“Shit!” Arthur shouts as the back of the wagon hits the ground.

“What’s goin’ on back there?” Calls Dutch from the front.

“I broke the _goddamn_ wheel! Alright, everybody out, we need to fix this.” Everyone in Arhtur’s wagon hops out. “Ya’ll go on ahead, we’ll catch up.” He waves the rest of the wagon train forward.

“Arthur, you get the wheel, Charles and I will lift up the cart.” Hosea orders.

Arthur snorts, and laughs a little, “You sure you can lift still a wagon, old man?”

Hosea rolls his eyes, moving to the back of the cart with Charles, “Shaddup and move the damn wheel.”

“Yes, sir.” While the men are working on repairing the cart, Kate takes off her boots and stockings, wading into the chilly stream, chasing after a basket that had fallen out of the cart as it floats down the river. She manages to nab it before it can get too far from the wagon. The water soaks through her blouse and skirt as she trudges back upstream over slick algae-coated rocks to the bank where she left her boots. Kate can’t help but shiver at the little patches of damp cloth clinging to her skin.

“And where’d you get off to?” Asks Arthur, as she steps back onto the bank, holding out her boots for her.

“Well- I wanted to help and don’t think I could have helped with the wheel. I noticed something was floating away, so I went and got it.” Kate puts down the basket and snatches up her boots and socks from Arthur. She takes a seat in the grass to put them back on.

“It’s just a basket. Ain’t that important. But, thank you, I guess.”

His compliment, however, falls on deaf ears, as Kate is frozen in place, having looked up from lacing her right boot to the closest ridgeline to see three men standing there, watching the four of them. The three men follow her line of sight and spot them too.

“If they wanted trouble, we wouldn’t have seen them.” Charles reassures.

Hosea looks up to the ridge and gives the figures a half wave, half salute, “Don’t pay them any mind, Ms. Kate. They won’t bother us so long as we don’t bother them.”

“Who are they?” She quickly laces her left boot and stands, brushing dirt and sand from her skirts.

“Wapiti Natives. This used to be their land before the government started chasin’ ‘em off, killin’ ‘em, and sendin’ ‘em to live on reservations. They got handed a pretty rough deal… Get back in the cart, c’mon.” Hosea explains, taking her hand and helping her up.

Charles packs the basket and other fallen items back into the cart and gets in himself, “Rough deal doesn’t quite cover it. How is that different from anywhere else?”

“Well… Maybe it’s not. I just heard some of the army out here was particularly, uh… Unpleasant about it.” Hosea continues.

“Unpleasant?” Charles asks skeptically, “How do you rob and kill people pleasantly? _We_ don’t, in spite of Dutch’s talk.”

“I fear, I was perhaps trying to simplify something more complicated for the benefit of our blockheaded driver and his constant clueless companion here.” The older man postulates.

Once everyone is loaded back in, Arthur gives a short snap of the reins and they continue down the mountain. Arthur responds to Hosea’s jab indignantly, “Hey, don’t blame it on me. _Never_ forget; this here is a conman, Charles, born and bred. Just because it _sounds_ fancy don’t mean he knows a damn thing about what he’s talkin’ about.” There’s a short silence between the four before Arthur breaks it again by asking Charles, “So, what happened to your tribe?”

“I don’t even know if I have one, least not that I can remember.” He answers. Kate stares at him quizzically and he continues for her benefit, “My father was a colored man. They told me he lived with our people for a while, a number of freemen did, but, when we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much. All my life, I’ve been on the run. A couple years later, some soldiers captured my mother, took her somewhere. We never saw her again.” Charles sighs, reminiscing about that time, “We drifted around… He was a very sad man and the drink had a mean hold on him. Around thirteen, I took off on my own. Never looked back.”

Hosea briefly interjects, “That’s about the age we found Arthur here, maybe a little older. A wilder delinquent you never did see, but he learned fast.”

“Not as fast as _Marston_ , apparently.” Arthur grumbles.

“Wait a second.” Kate pipes up, “What’s the problem between you?”

“It’s a _long_ story.” And he leaves it at that, he turns his head to Hosea, “We still headed in the right way?” He turns back to watch the path.

“That depends,” Hosea starts, “Are we still headed west, in search of fortune and repose in virgin forests, as we planned? No. Are we headed in the correct direction in our desperate escape from the law eastwards down the mountains? Yes, I believe so.” He finishes sarcastically.

“You know this area?” Asks Charles.

“A little, I’ve been through a couple of times. There’s a livestock town not too far from here, called Valentine. Cowboys, outlaws, workin’ girls. Our kind of place.”

“O’Driscolls?” Arthur side-eyes Hosea.

“Probably them too.” He shrugs.

“ _Pinkertons?”_ Arthur asks in a more serious tone.

“Let’s hope not.”

“And this place we’re going… Wait, what’s it called again?”

“Horseshoe Overlook.”

He needles further, “It’s a good place to lie low?”

“It’ll do for now. But how low do you think Dutch will want to lie? It’s just… you know, maybe it’s me who’s changed, not him, but we kept telling him that ferry job didn’t feel right… You and I were onto something _big_ in Blackwater. It’s not like Dutch to lose his head like that…” He trails off and after a few minutes pulls out his mortar, pestle and a couple herbs, beginning to grind them down into a paste.

Kate peeks over his shoulder, “What are you making?”

“A healing poultice.” He answers, trying not to sound too annoyed with her breathing down his neck.

“Out of what?” She continues. This is a bit new for Hosea, it’s not often that one of these young people takes a genuine interest in his natural remedies, so he humors her, showing her the contents of the tiny stone bowl.

“Ginseng and yarrow. Good on scratches under bandages, good for the health if you eat it. Do you want to give it a good mashing for me? My arthritis doesn’t do well in cold weather.” He offers her the mortar and pestle.

“Sure, if you don’t mind.” Kate gingerly takes the tool from Hosea and grinds the roots of both plants into a fine paste, “Is this good?” She shows him.

“Well look at that. We’ll make a little nurse of you yet.” He takes the tools back, “Here, Arthur, why don’t you take these? If I know you, you’ll come back to us one of these days in need of a quick remedy.” Hosea stuffs the kit down into Arthur’s satchel after scraping the herbal mix into a little tin.

“Sure, sure. And hey, lookit that… We must be getting close.” He says motioning to Javier, who’s sitting out by a large boulder, “We close, Mr. Escuella?”

“It’s just through the woods here.” He points in the direction of a couple wagon tracks that go deeper into the forest, “Have room for one more?”

“Climb in.” Arthur motions for Javier to get on.

Kate scoots over a little to make room for Javier.

“Graciás, amigita.” He shoots her a little smile.

Kate racks her brain for the little bit of Spanish she still remembers from high school, “Um- No te preocupes. That’s right, right?”

Javier just looks at her in bewilderment, “Yeah- That-… That’s actually right.”

“You’re looking at me like I have six eyes… Oh- does it bother you? I don’t have to speak Spanish around you, I know my pronunciation is kinda shit.”

“No! No… It’s just been a long time since someone answered me back in Spanish. Do whatever you want.” Javier smooths his hair back and clears his throat.  
“Javier,” Says Charles with a smirk playing on his lips, “I don’t know if she’s ready for your brand of flirting just yet. Looks like she just turned it back on you, actually.”

“ _Ay_ … Cierra tú boca, pendejo.” Javier tosses a loose pebble that was bouncing around in the back of the cart at Charles.

“Jesus, you’re all a bunch of children…” Murmurs Hosea.

“Good thing we won’t have to endure it too much longer. We’re here.” Sure enough, the wagon pulls into a clearing where the rest of the gang are buzzing around, setting up tents and completing various other chores, “Alright, get out ‘n go help.” Kate follows Arthur and Hosea like a duckling over to Dutch while Charles and Javier split off to work.

“Gentlemen!” Dutch yells over the bustle of the gang, “We have _survived_.”

“For now…” Hosea mutters under his breath.

“Now it is time to _prosper_ ,” Dutch continues, ignoring the comment and taking a seat at a plain wooden table that had just been set up.

“Arthur and I were about to prosper in Blackwater. We were onto something _big_.” Hosea speaks up a little louder for Dutch’s attention, “Then Micah got you all excited about that ferry and here we are.”

Dutch looks up at his partner from the chair, gaze unwavering, “We have all made mistakes over the years, Hosea… Every last one of us.” He pushes himself up from sitting, “But I kept us together. Kept us _alive_. Kept the nooses of our neck.” He growls and starts to walk off to his and Molly’s shared tent. Kate backs away from the men, sensing a storm brewing. She goes to help the women set up Arthur’s tent.

When that’s through, she gets a little pat on the back and is told to go unhitch the horses. Kate returns to the wagons to unhitch Taima and Silver Dollar from the wagon they took down.

“You still ain’t got a tent.” Arthur points out, popping up on the other side of the horses.

“Uh, no. I don’t.” She wonders where he’s going with this.

“Thinkin’ of stayin’ with the women?” He helps unbuckle straps.

“I haven’t given the topic much thought at all, honestly. Just figured it’d sort itself out.” She admits.

“Can’t stay in mine. S’ too small.”

“I noticed, but aren’t you still in charge of me? Can’t I just run off if you don’t have an eye on me?” She teases, lightly brushing out the sweat from the Silver Dollar’s hair before letting the mare go to the other horses, who are grazing peacefully nearby.

“You- shut up. Just- sleep wherever you want.”

“I’ll ask Dutch about it, then.” She moves onto Taima, pushing Arthur out of her way.

“Don’t go botherin’ him. He has enough on his mind already.”

“Then where do you suggest I sleep?” She repeats the careful bushing on Taima before letting her go.

“Back of my wagon.” He shrugs and motions over to his setup. His tent is more of a canvas overhang attached to the side of a wagon with a couple tables and a cot sitting under it than a real tent.

“With all the ammunition?” Kate raises an eyebrow at him.

“We can move it. You’re a pain in the ass, you know that, right?”

“Oh, I know. And it’s my goal to make your life a living hell every day I’m near you.” She sticks her tongue out briefly at him.

“And a damn child too.” He lightly cuffs her on the back of the head. She’s just about to hit him back when Dutch calls.

“Everyone? Put your tools down for just a minute. Come on gather round, quickly now.” Dutifully, they all put their work down and circle around Dutch at his tent, including Kate as he continues, “I know that things have been tough, but we are safe now, and far too poor. So, it is time for _everyone_ to get to work.”

“Get to work but keep out of trouble.” Hosea adds, “Remember we are itinerant workers-”

“Laid off when they shut down our factory to the north.” Dutch finishes for him, “Now, get out there, and see what you can find. Uncle, Reverend Swanson, no more passengers.” Some of the gang gets a laugh out of that, “It is time for everyone to earn their keep.” Dutch makes a point of gesturing to Sadie and Kate.

“There is a town a little way down the track… Name of Valentine… Live-stock town, all mud and morons if I remember right. That seems a decent place to start.” Suggests Hosea.

Pearson chimes in, “And we need food. Real food. That means every day.”

“And remember, whatever it is that you find, the camp gets its slice.” Dutch plops a heavy brown box onto a barrel along with a green-bound book, “Now, be sensible out there.” He gives a wave and lets everyone get back to their chores.

Ms. Grimshaw taps Arthur on the shoulder, “The girls have your tent ready, Mr. Morgan, come with me.” And she leads him off to his setup with Kate in tow. It’s not too big a distance from the cooking fire or Dutch’s tent, but it’s private enough.

“I’m sure everything will be fine, Ms. Grimshaw.”

“It should be, most of your stuff from blackwater got saved.”

“Everything apart from my money.”

“Oh, don’t remind me.” She grumbles.

“Well, we can always make more.”

“We’re gonna have to…” Ms. Grimshaw offers Arthur a matronly smile before turning and tromping off to go yell at Tilly some about setting the women’s tent improperly. Arthur takes a seat on his cot and strikes a match on his boot to have a quick smoke.

Kate finds ger bag leaning up against one of the posts of Arthur’s tent, she picks it up and climbs into the back of his wagon. It’s dry, only a little dirty, and covered with canvas. She unpacks everything and makes a little home for herself there. A ratty old blanket she took from Colter that had gone through the wash a couple times across the floor of the wagon itself, then her sleeping pad, then her sleeping bag layered at one end, clothes sorted and folded on top of an empty crate along with her water bottles, books, and flashlight, “Now for the moment of truth…” She murmurs to herself, digging out her solar charger and phone. She lays all three of the little panels out on the driver’s seat in the direct sun and plugs her phone in. She nearly shrieks with joy when the little red battery symbol shows up on the screen. It still works, might take a whole day to charge, but it works.

Arthur knocks on the side of the wagon, “What’re you squealin’ for?”

“You’ll see soon!” He’ll see and he’ll finally believe that she’s from the future.

He peeks around to the inside, “Well, look at you in your little den. That didn’t take long for you to move in.”

“Thank you, by the way. For letting me stay here with you. I don’t know that the other girls are too fond of me.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so shy, they’d like you.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’ll happen…”

“Good thing I’m taking them and Uncle into town. Come with us. Get some of your own clothes, pick out a horse for yourself.”

“Are you sure? We don’t really have the money.”

“No, but you have quite the extensive collection of valuables from Mr. Cornwall’s private car that are definitely worth something. It ain’t _money_ , but trade is pretty acceptable in shitholes like Valentine. C’mon.” He motions for her to get out of his wagon. Kate pockets some of the nicer pieces, a pair of gold cufflinks, three fine cigars, and a heavy silver pocket watch before she follows Arthur out and over to the girls and Uncle, who are all four relaxing in a hitched cart.

“Didn’t know you was coming.” Karen says, frowning a little at Kate’s approach.

“I need to get some things… As soon as I have my own clothes, I can give yours back.”

“Oh- You were planning on giving them back?”

“Yeah? They’re yours, I’m not just _taking_ them, that’d be awful rude of me.”

Karen takes a couple beats to gather her thoughts, “Just wasn’t expecting that, thank you.  
“No problem.” Kate shrugs a little.

“Alright, everybody in? Let’s go!” Arthur snaps the reins and the horse takes off.

“Kate? I couldn’t help noticing that you brought some books with you. Do you like to read?” Mary-Beth asks.

“I do, actually.” Kate responds, thinking back to her crammed shelves at home.

“Maybe when you’re finished with yours, and I mine, we can switch.” She suggests.

“Sure, I think that could be fun.”

Mary-Beth smiles pleased with herself.

“Ladies,” Says Uncle, twisting around in his seat, “Why don’t you sing us a song.”

“Any requests?” Tilly asks.

He replies, “Up to you.” Then there is a brief deliberation among the women, which Kate abstains from, not knowing any songs they’d also know. The ladies settle on “The Ring-Dang-Doo,” which is vaguely reminiscent of a camp song Kate knows called “A Rig-a-Bamboo.” Except the version Kate knows is apparently _heavily_ censored, so she opts to not pay attention to the singing, but the scenery passing by. It’s green, the leaves, the grass, even the air has a hint of the freshness of growing plants. There are a couple people on horses and carts that pass by, all whom she waves to. The trees are teeming with little songbirds, and she counts seven rabbits, three wild turkey, and even a fox in the undergrowth.

She smells Valentine before she sees it. Smoke, animal waste, little bit of rot. Kate gags a little.

“You okay? Never been to a livestock town, have you?” Tilly gives her back a consoling pat.

“No- I’ve been through Valentine before I just- forgot how fragrant it was…” Everybody has a good laugh at that.

“You’ll get used to it. Especially living around Arthur, ‘cause he don’t bathe.” Mary-Beth giggles.

“ _Hey_. I’ll have you know I have a good thorough cleaning once in a while.”

“Sure, maybe if we throw you in the stream with a bar of soap.”

“That uh- brings up a good point… Where can I get a bath?” Kate asks, “I feel… really gross.”

“We can get you one at the hotel in town after you get some new clothes, I’ll even go into the general store with you to pick them out, ok? I’ve been told that I have an eye for color.” Mary-Beth re-assures her.

“And what are the rest of you up to?” Arthur asks.

“Workin’.” Answers Karen plainly.

“Same here.” Says Uncle.

“I highly doubt that… And what about you, Ms. Tilly?”

“I know someone here. I’m gonna pay them a visit. And you, Mr. Morgan?”

“Someone has to accompany these poor defenseless women to the general store.”

“We ain’t defenseless, Arthur.”

“Oh, I know that, but they don’t. Who’s gonna stop you from tearin’ that poor clerk a new behind, Ms. Gaskill?” That gets another laugh out of Mary-Beth.

“Ever the charmer, Arthur.”

They pull onto the main street and Arthur ties up the cart to a hitching post outside the General store, “Two hours, then we head back.” He tells everyone, holding up two fingers, “No trouble, no messes, now go on.” Everybody goes in their separate directions while Arthur helps Mary-Beth and Kate out of the cart onto the wooden walkway that travels between stores.

Inside, the store is dimly lit by gas-burning lights, and the man behind the counter calls out a friendly greeting, “Howdy there, what can I do for you fine folks?”

“This young lady here needs some new clothes.”

“Well step on up, my dear and go through our catalogue.”

“I- don’t have money to pay… but will these be ok?” Kate puts the three cigars on the counter.

“Let’s see.” The clerk picks up each one, weighs it in his hand, sniffs the tobacco, and checks for any damage or markings, “Young lady, I don’t know how you came by legitimate Cuban cigars all the way out here, but I’ll certainly take them off your hands for two sets of clothes.”

“Really?” She asks, worried that it isn’t enough.

“Yes. Kate, take the man’s offer, he’s being very generous.” Arthur urges her.

“Okay- thank you, sir.” She bows her head a little toward him.

“Mary-Beth you help her out with that. I’m headed to the bank quick.” Arthur reaches into Kate’s pocket and snatches up the cufflinks and watch, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait- why?” She begins, having felt him take the objects.

“Don’t worry about it. Just pick something nice.” Arthur steps out and crosses town, bank-shmank, he knows there’s a fence nearby that’ll pay top dollar for these.

Kate and Mary-Beth look through all the clothes he has in stock as well as the catalogue and they pick out a few things for her. New boots and stockings that fit properly, two skirts, one dark red, and the other sky blue, two blouses, some underclothes, a jacket, and Kate insists, work pants and suspenders. She gets an odd look from both Mary-Beth and the clerk, but gets them anyway, regardless of what they think. She needs jeans or she’ll suffer a bitter, skirty end.

Arthur returns as the clerk is boxing all the clothes for her, “All set?”

“Yes. Thank you, sir.” She nods again at the clerk before they leave. They step outside and Kate demands, “What did you do with my stuff?”

“Sold it. Now, you have some money.” He taps her head with a small wad of bank notes, “Now put them boxes in the cart, and Ms. Gaskill, take her to the hotel for a bath, I’ll be at the stables, seeing about a horse for Ms. Kate. Now here, take this, go get clean.” He hands them a dollar out of the stack.

They do as he says, squishing across the muddy street to the hotel across from them. Kate has one of the boxes in tow. Clean clothes and a bath never hurt anyone. The concierge points out their washrooms in the back and taking their dollar and handing back a fistful of change. They both hole up in one of the rooms. Kate is the first one in the warm bubbly water. She groans and the heat sinks into her strained muscles and joints.

“I know that feeling.” Mary-Beth hands Kate the soap and a sponge to scrub herself with. And she does, vigorously. The week and a half of grease and grime is no match for the hot water and soap, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh- sure.”  
“Why do you keep your hair short like a man’s?” It’s genuine, soft.

“Well- When I was young.” She recounts, “I learned to defend myself a little bit. I was told that when a man grabs you by the hair, it’s harder if your hair is short, for him to keep a firm grip. And I guess I kept that with me. Besides, it’d always get in my face and I never liked putting it up in a bun, it’s much easier to clean… And sometimes… It’s more convenient for me if I look like a man. I get bothered less.” She scrubs through her hair.

“That’s- quite the set of reasons, Kate.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Not particularly, but the other women were wondering why you do it.”

“Well now you know.” Kate rinses herself off and lets Mary-Beth take her turn in the water while she dries and dresses in one of her new blouses and the red skirt.

They both sit in warm silence while Mary-Beth bathes, and when they’re both finished, they head out of the hotel feeling nice and clean. Arthur is outside leading a tacked-up horse over to their cart. The horse is a big black mare with white socks and a white blaze down to her cute pink muzzle and lips.

Arthur whistles when he sees the ladies walking towards him, “Looks like there were fine young ladies under all that dirt. And here’s Ms. Kate, looking like a strawberry topped with cream.”

“Don’t tease, Arthur.” Mary-Beth gives his shoulder a playful swat.

“Who’s this?” Kate asks, letting the new horse sniff at her hand.

“This is your girl and everything you need to take care of her, her name is up to you.”

Kate gingerly pets down the horse’s nose, thinking of a name before settling on one, “Lup.”

“Loop. Like a ring?” Asks Mary-Beth.

Kate adds, “It’s short for Chalupa.”

“And what in the hell is a Chalupa?” Arthur crosses his arms.

“It’s a Mexican street-food. You can probably ask Javier. He’ll know. If they’re… a thing yet.”

“Whatever. It’s your horse, you name it whatever dumb thing you want.” Arthur waves all this bullshit away, “Here, but your boxes in the saddlebags and get back to camp… I’ll round everyone else up and we’ll meet you.”

“Getting rid of me so soon?”

“No. You need to get Lup used to having you ride her.”

“Right…” Kate packs up the boxes and hoists herself up onto Lup’s back.

Arthur adjusts her stirrups for her, “Comfortable?”

“Actually? Yeah… I am.” Kate leans down a little and pets Lup’s neck, “She’s a very good girl.”

“Then get a move on. We’ll see you later.” He touches the brim of his hat and nods.

Kate gives Lup a light squeeze around the middle and brings her into a trot, comfortably moving back down the track to camp.


	5. Normalcy, Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the good folks of the Van der Linde gang are coming around to the idea that Kate is from another time.
> 
> Poor hunting skills, Dutch plotting, and general awkwardness ensue. It happens.
> 
> Warning: animal death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop. This is later and shorter than I'd like it to be. But you know, virus happened, then the fattest writers block ever.  
> But DON'T WORRY. You'll get the good saloon scene next chapter. I want to dedicate a whole chapter to that one.

_Horseshoe Overlook_

_May 31 st, 1899_

_She was telling the truth. Just this morning, Kate ran up to me with that little glass-covered rectangle, pressed one of the little buttons and… Well… It came to life. That’s all I can describe it as. There were pictures and numbers, like a book, but they moved with only a touch of her finger. She showed me colored pictures of her family. Her brother, mother, father, and two little cats. Pictures of cities with buildings that reach far up into the sky, automobiles filling paved streets, women in clothes similar to the ones we found her in, moving pictures like you’d see at a theatre, in color, real people. She claims this is a phone, but she can’t make any “calls” because she “has no service.” It plays music as well, but it’s not any music I’m familiar with in the least._

_I can’t claim that she’s insane anymore because she has irrefutable proof that she is, in fact, from the future. However, it’s nice to see her smiling to herself looking at the pictures under the glass. It’s like sunshine on a dark day around camp. Lord knows we need some sunshine here._

_John and Charles are taking her out to hunt nearby this afternoon. Folks are getting hungry and she needs to learn something useful before Dutch decides he’s done with her, or worse, Micah decides that there are one too many “useless” women in camp and goes for her throat with a knife. Probably for the best that he’s gone missing in such a short time, even though there is no doubt that he’s sticking his nose where it don’t belong and getting into trouble. In the meantime, I’m paying debt collector for Strauss and racking up more guilt for St. Peter to use against me come judgement day._

_I need a drink._

-0-

“Good to see that there’s someone in the world more incompetent than I am.” John chuckles and pats Kate’s shoulder after another missed shot on a pheasant.

“It’s a moving target!” She hisses through gritted teeth, “I’m doing everything right, now be quiet so I can focus.”

“Relax. Your shoulders are too tense.” Charles adjusts her position for her again.

Kate slumps a little in defeat, ruining the stance Charles had cultivated for her, “Jesus… Why don’t you two just do it if I’m failing so miserably?”

“ ‘Cause you need to learn. Dutch won’t have you lazing around the camp. Everyone has to be useful.” John quips.

“John. Keep quiet, you’ll scare off all the animals.” Charles neatly cuffs John on the back of the head, nearly pushing him out of the bush they’re all sat in as a hiding spot.

“I’m just sayin’… It could be people next, and we need as many hands as we can get to defend everyone.”

Kate doesn’t even want to think of shooting another person, that night on the train had been pure adrenaline, and the thought of being shot herself is enough to make her nauseous, “Both of you shut up… Please.” She hisses. Suddenly, there’s a shuffle of movement in the foliage nearby. Kate raises the rifle back to her shoulder and aims towards the moving leaves as a dark brown hare makes its way out, nose twitching. _‘Fuck_ , _I’m sorry I have to shoot you bunny, but everyone is counting on me…’_ She thinks to herself, breathing out nice and slow as she squeezes the trigger, just like her grandfather had taught her as a young girl.

A shot rings in her ears, then a squeal, “I hit it?” She stands up from the bush and sees the body of the hare laying in a growing pool of blood, “I hit it!” Kate raises her arms in triumph, but drops them as soon as she realizes that she signed the poor creature’s death warrant.

John whistles, coming to stand beside her, “Look at you, we’ll have you hunting bear soon enough. Too bad you didn’t kill it.” He picks up the hare and it squeaks weakly in his arms before he cleanly snaps it’s neck, “Probably ruined the meat with that bullet, but at least you hit it.”

“Don’t listen to him. You’re learning and he’s an ass.” Charles reassures her, removing the knife to skin the hare while John holds its back paws. Kate looks away before the skin is pulled from the muscle with a sickening, wet, tearing sound, “Once we tan this, you can take it to a butcher and sell it. Get some money in your pocket.”

“The box, you mean.” She corrects him as he drapes the skin over Lup’s rump and ties the carcass to her saddle.

“You sound like Arthur, Kate, ‘everything, _anything_ for you, Dutch.’” John coos teasingly in a falsetto.

Kate gives Charles an appreciative nod and climbs up onto Lup, “It’s my choice what I do with my money. I need to make sure I have a place with all of you… I- want to be useful.”

“Now you _really_ sound like him.”

The two men mount their horses as well, and they all take an easy trot back to camp, Kate and Charles in silence, while John jokes to neither of them in particular. As the three enter pass the ring of trees surrounding Horseshoe Overlook, Kate spots Lenny, doubled over and out of breath between a concerned looking Dutch and Arthur. There’s a little pang of worry that rolls though her gut, but she does her best to ignore it as she slides down off Lup and gives her neck a few pats before removing the pelt and the carcass. She only hears a snippet of what Lenny says as she walks her meager kill over to Pearson. She picks out, “Micah, Strawberry, and talk of hanging him.”

_‘Good riddance.’_ She thinks, handing the hare over to the cook.

“Well look at that,” Pearson chuckles looking over the meat. His voice snaps her back out of her thoughts, “You actually managed to kill something.”

“Barely… It was- struggling. John is the one who actually killed it.” She mutters.

“Looks like you clipped its spine. Didn’t poison the meat at least, you just paralyzed it.” He shows her where the bullet buried itself in the hare’s back.

“Oh god that’s even _worse_. I didn’t kill a bunny, I just _paralyzed it_.”

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal about it. It’s just a rabbit, and we need meat.” He’s already pried the bullet out and gutting the animal.

“I’m not- I’ve only killed one animal before! And it was an asshole! This was an innocent bunny…”

“Look at it this way. If this rabbit didn’t die for our dinner, we’d all be starved. You did what was best for the gang. It’s usually like that for these sorts of things, kid. The needs of our family, yours now too, outweigh the life of a single rabbit. No doubt if someone finds our spot out here, everyone’s safety is gonna outweigh the lives of a few men.” He hangs the rabbit from a set of small gambrels and lets the fluid start draining from it. The pelt, he puts in a tub of cool water to rinse off the blood.

“I think I understand.” She replies, lost in thought.

“Good. Best if you wise up fast before that day comes. Now get back here and rinse off your hands, help me cut some of these vegetables while I get this pelt started.”

She does as she’s told, settling in next to Pearson to help him out. The awkward silence between them is unbearable. Paralyzing rabbits aside, their conversations have tended to be more serious. Kate side-eyes him, “So… I assume that Pearson isn’t your whole name?”

“What? Of course not.” He snorts, “It’s Simon.”

She nods, “Simon…” and commits it to memory. Their conversation turns far more pleasant after that, sharing anecdotes and a little camp gossip before they’re interrupted by Arthur’s long shadow.

“Mr. Pearson, may I borrow that young lady?” Arthur asks.

“Go right ahead, we’re near done anyway.” The cook nods and lets her step from behind the table they were working at.

“Come with me, Miss.” He guides her away from the food and over to the lookout fire, where Dutch and Lenny are both sitting. The younger man is doubled over with his arms on his knees and Dutch has a comforting hand on his back.

“What’s going on? Are you okay, Lenny?” Kate keeps her distance from the pair, god knows what happened and she’d prefer not to get in the middle of it for now.

“He’s fine, just a little spooked is all.” Dutch gives Lenny a pat before he gets up and crosses the ring to stand by both Arthur and Kate, “Micah got himself arrested and Lenny here barely escaped Strawberry with his life.” He continues.

Kate takes a few steps forward, worried, “Oh- god, is he injured?”

Dutch puts out his arm across her chest to stop her, “He’s fine, the boy just needs to calm down.” He reassures.

“Then… Why’d you call me over?”

“You and Arthur are going to take Lenny out to the saloon in Valentine. Show him a good time, get him calm.”

“Can’t Arthur do that by himself?” Kate wonders aloud, gesturing to Arthur.

He has his arms crossed, clearly annoyed, “That’s what I’m askin’. You _know_ how the boys at those places can get, Dutch.” A young lady like that? She’d be snatched up in seconds by some dirty drunk cowpoke looking to fool around. The more the scenario plays in his head, the more- _something_ he feels. Anger? Bitterness? … Jealousy? Either way, the thought makes him sick and he’d rather go with Lenny alone than drag Kate along with them.

“ _Precisely_. She is going to make sure you don’t make asses of yourselves in public and get arrested. We need to work on breaking Mr. Bell out, we don’t need two more in need of saving. Besides…” He looks her up and down thoughtfully, “Hunting might not be her speed. Let’s see how well she can do swindling drunkards out of their money.”

“But-.” Arthur begins to protest.

“I won’t hear a word of it, Arthur. Take them. With you. I need space to work this all out and I can’t have any of my men in a panic.” He growls. Arthur immediately stops his protests, backing off.

“Fine… Alright Kate, Lenny, you heard him. On the horses. Just a couple drinks and we’re comin’ straight back.” Arthur waves his hand flippantly as he stalks off and away from the group.

Kate goes to help Lenny to his feet, but Dutch stops her before she can reach him, “Look… Rabbit pelts are all well and good, but there needs to be more. Especially from you.”

Kate looks away, embarrassed at being called out, “Dutch, I’m trying my best.”

“Better, then, my dear.” He takes her face by the jaw, forcing her to look at him. By now, Lenny has scooted past them and joined Arthur at the horses, “I’m hard on you, ‘cause I like you, understand? You’ve got potential, and I hate to see it wasted. Your… Background, let’s call it that, gives us insight to what we need to do to move forward to meet our goals.” She squirms, trying to get him to let go, heartbeat hammering in her chest like that poor paralyzed bunny. His grip only tightens, “You, my dear, will be my third great project. My wolf in sheep’s clothing… Now run along, make sure those morons don’t get into too much trouble, and make me some money.” With that he lets her go, and she nearly trips on her own skirts. Dutch chuckles, lighting up a cigar for himself, already strategizing for Micah’s prison break and the roll his girl from the future will play in it.

-0-

_June 1 st, 1899_

_I have made a grave mistake._

_In hindsight, I should have seen it coming from a mile away. But in my infinite stupidity, I ignored it, much like I do with the majority of the things I feel, and it barreled me over like a train._

_It’s true. In the short while I’ve known her, I have developed a certain fondness for Ms. Katherine, akin to what I felt for Mary Linton. I’m beginning to suspect our initial closeness in Colter is what endeared her to me._

_Last night, I lost myself in the drink, and though the haze I was drifting in and out of, one of the more lucid moments, my lips were on hers and her neck. She must have been drunk too, because she didn’t push me away like any sane woman would._

_Despite Dutch’s best efforts, the law still came down on the three of us and we all had to run. I hope Lenny didn’t get caught, we’re in a big enough mess as it is. As for Kate, she is asleep on my chest as I write this, curled up like a cat._

_I won’t speak of this to anyone, and pray that she’s forgotten it by the time she wakes up._


	6. Good times at the El Royale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens at the saloon in Valentine between three idiots. Pickpocketing, karaoke, and hilarity ensue.
> 
> The Strange Man appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again. Finally got my muse back to finish this chapter. Sorry for the wait. ;n;

“You look about near ready to collapse there.” Arthur is re-tacking Lup for Kate and fends her off when she tries to help. Focusing his frustration with the whole situation into the knots and leather of the saddle.

Kate lightly touches the place where Dutch was holding her jaw. It hurts, there might be a bruise, “It feels like Dutch sucked all the life out of my body, so yeah, that’s accurate.”

“He’ll do that. I saw him grab you… You alright?” Lenny asks from atop Maggie.

“He-? that bastard…” Arthur hisses, tightening one last strap, “He needs to lay the hell off you.” He hates how possessive he sounds, and at the same time, how disloyal to Dutch he sounds. Dutch’s judgement is the best, and the man isn’t beyond physical reminders.

She smoothly hops into her saddle, “Arthur. I’m fine. He just wants me to make some extra money tonight. We should get going.”

“Fine. But if anyone grabs you, I’m breaking hands.” He grumbles, hauling himself onto Victor. The three of them kick their horses forward towards Valentine.

Lenny snorts a little at Arthur’s promised threats to any would-be assaulter, “Any more talk like that and folks might think that you actually like her.”

A mischievous grin splits Kate’s face as she eyes him, “He does like me. Arthur _loves_ me, actually.”

He responds by tilting his hat down over his eyes and grimacing, “You two ought to quit while you’re ahead, ‘less you want broken fingers too.”

Kate and Lenny both burst into laughter at Arthur’s embarrassment. Tonight might actually turn out well.

They trot into Valentine as the first stripes of purple twilight lick at the edges of the sky, the lights of the town begin to flicker to life. Raucous noise already pouring out of the doors of the saloon as they approach and hitch the horses to the posts outside. Kate takes a deep breath, adjusting her blouse and skirt. She can’t help clenching and unclenching her fists in the starched fabric.

“What, you never been to a bar before?” Lenny puts his hand on her shoulder, walking her up the steps out of the mud and onto the thin boardwalk close to the shops.

“Once or twice, yeah. I don’t do well with alcohol.” Kate tries not to shudder at the thought of her last experience at a bar. Vodka Cranberries are a dangerous drink and saying no to karaoke drunk is nearly impossible. Especially when ABBA is in the set. Thank god neither karaoke nor ABBA have been invented yet; she doesn’t intend to invent them herself. But who’s to say she won’t be standing on a table by the end of the night singing Lay All Your Love on Me?

“Neither do I. We’ll keep each other in check tonight.” Lenny offers her a smile as they walk towards the saloon, boots clomping against the wood underfoot. Arthur walks close behind them, shielding the point where the two younger people connect from view of the men wandering the streets.

“Lenny, I don’t think I’m going to drink tonight… I have to make money. Dutch’s orders. I need to be totally focused to- shit, does he expect me to _pickpocket_ people?” The nervous pit in her stomach gapes much wider.

“Just one, then. For me? To take the edge off?”

She puts her finger up, counting one on her hand to make her intentions clear, “Okay. Alright. _One_ beer. No hard liquor.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Once you’re loose, go after the fellas who are near _blackout_. You’re bound to get something…” He begins to offer her some advice from his experiences, meanwhile they approach the doors of the saloon.

Arthur interrupts him, “Lenny hands off her, someone’ll notice that you two are being friendly. Folks might not take kindly to that. They don’t understand in backwater shitholes like this.”

“Right- Sorry, Arthur.” He takes his hand off her shoulder. The light reassurance was something Kate wanted, but even the barest touch seen, and Lenny could be lynched for it. It’s best to follow societal rules, even if they are disgusting.

“Just looking out for you, kid.” Arthur holds open the door and lets them through before he steps in, letting the doors swing shut.

It’s even louder inside the saloon. Men mostly are sitting at wooden tables, drinking, eating, smoking, gambling, flirting with the working girls, and all other manner of activity. It’s crowded tonight. If Kate knew anything about pickpocketing, this would be a goldmine of opportunity. She swallows the lump forming in her throat from nerves and follows Arthur to a table in the corner. The golden lamplight doesn’t reach this remote little spot.

“Stay here. Don’t let anybody speak to you but Lenny and I.” Arthur orders, “I’m buying drinks...” He motions for Lenny to follow him to the bar, and the two walk off into the crowd, leaving her to fend for herself.

Kate shrinks in her seat looking down at the table. The wood is stained, she doesn’t want to think about with what. Suddenly, she’s taken over with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, someone is watching her. She glances around and spots him. He’s tall, thin, and out of place in his fine suit and styled mustache, surrounded by men in their work clothes. A top hat sits comfortably above his slick black hair, and he holds a tumbler of amber liquor in a smooth, pale hand. The stranger brings the glass to his lips and drinks, eyes never leaving her. She tears her eyes away from him. Where the hell are Arthur and Lenny? She can’t even see them standing at the bar.

“Young lady…” She doesn’t have to look to know that the stranger has moved to stand near her. His voice is low and calm, articulated, “You’re rather far from home, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know you. Go away.” As she says it, she knows that must be wrong. He feels too familiar, and yet, she can’t place him in her memory.

“I’m afraid you know me already, my dear, but we are soon to become much more closely acquainted, I feel. May I sit?” His tone is non-threatening, and against her better judgement, Kate nods, and the stranger takes the seat across from her, placing his tumbler in the middle of the table.

“Can I ask what you’re here for? Plenty of pretty girls to go bother.”

“Yes, there are. But none of them are so… unique, in their background as you.” The stranger keeps his focus on Kate, making her feel even smaller and anxious.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m taking an interest in your affairs. You avoided me on that mountain due to an incredibly miraculous set of circumstances.”

“Avoided- what are you _talking_ about? You’re not Arthur or Lenny, so go away! I’m not supposed to be talking with strangers.” She starts raising her voice at the stranger, smacking her hand on the table, but he seems unruffled, and neither do the patrons of the bar. Almost like they’re in their own private bubble.

“I insist that you do know me.” He takes her hand. It’s ice cold. Cold as the blizzard, her frigid skin, the cabin floor.

She speaks up breathlessly, retracting her hand after she realizes just who The Stranger is, “I- … What do you want? Are you here to collect? Did- am I not supposed to be here?”

“Always asking so many questions…” The stranger murmurs, “I’m simply here to check in. It’s not every day one encounters a storm of that nature. Many of these men and women are at a crossroads in their lives. Their fates in tangles, and yours was simply lost in the mess as you approached the same paths as they did, all starting in that blizzard. Of course, you have a role to play here now, which is much more than you could say for how you were living back home, eh?” The Stranger leans back in his chair, unblinking, “For your benefit, I will answer three questions relating to the situation.”

Kate hates to agree with him, but he’s right, at home, she felt as if she was rotting from the inside out with no passions or direction, hardly any friends, and the very painful prospects of true modern adulthood hanging over her head. Here? The exact opposite is true, “What about my family? Don’t they miss me?” She asks.

“Your family won’t exist for another hundred years. Their feelings are a non-issue. You have two more questions.”

Kate comes up with something that has bothered her from the beginning of this whole ordeal for her second, “Why does the gang already seem familiar to me?”

“You already know what happens to characters like John Marston and Dutch van der Linde. Check the books you carried here with you. You should find them enlightening. One more.”

There are two questions rattling around in her head: ‘How do I get home?’ And, ‘Will anything I do change the future?’ Both seem equally important at the moment, but the stranger did just make the blindingly obvious point that ‘home’ isn’t exactly where her best life is.

“I can see you’re conflicted. Don’t worry, we’ll meet again. You can ask me then.” The Stranger finishes his drink, “I won’t keep you. Have a good evening. But… I’d keep an eye on Mr. Morgan tonight if I were you, he could get into all sorts of trouble.”

Kate blinks, and The Stranger is gone.

Arthur is by her side with a bottle of beer, handing it over, mumbling something about ‘business with a feller at the bar,’ before stalking off again. Kate sips from the bottle and gags. She doesn’t like beer on the best of days but this tastes like piss and sewer water, disgusting. But she finishes off the bottle anyway, because she figures that it’s better to be loose to steal money than anxious. Besides, even if the beer tastes like garbage, it’s doing its job. She briefly glances over to the bar where Lenny and Arthur are getting into a bit of a tussle with one of the other patrons, it seems they’ve drawn a bit of a crowd. The perfect distraction.

Kate stands, smooths her skirts with sweaty palms and takes a deep breath. In… Out… She spots her target. Clearly drunk, clearly wealthier than most patrons, and definitely focused on the fight brewing. In… Out… Her heart is pounding, it’s the only sound she can hear as she moves closer. His pockets are wide open. Three… Two… One… Now.

She bumps into him, reaching into the pocket as he takes her weight and lifting it back out just as easily with a wallet in her fingers, which she quickly stows away in her skirt.

“Oh! I’m so sorry I ran into you sir!” Kate apologizes to her mark as he turns to face her, “I just wanted to see what was going on over here. There’s such a big crowd, and I got curious.”

“You best watch where you’re headed, girl. You’re lucky I ain’t got half a mind to beat you for bein’ s’damn careless around menfolk.” He scowls at her and adjusts his coat, “And where’s your chaperone? You lost?” There’s a dark worrisome glint behind that filled with dark intentions that she has no plans to further, it makes her stomach feel like a pit.

“My- my uh- my chaperone… He- um…” Arthur lays the patron he was fighting out cold on the floor, glancing up to see a very frightened Kate being crowded into a corner by a stranger. Anger boils in him again along with his drinks and he shoves his way through to get to her, tapping the scoundrel on the shoulder.

“I’m with her. Move along.” It’s plain to see the blood and bruised knuckles on Arthur when the mark turns around. ‘Dangerous man,’ it screams.”

“Lucky that he’s… kind enough to find you again.” The mark visibly swallows, “I was just leaving- have a good evening, miss.” And as he scurries toward the door like the rat he is, Arthur spits after him, leaving a good dark spot on his coat.

Arthur lightly touches Kate’s shoulders and looks her over for injuries, “You alright, girl?”

“I’m okay, just a bit ruffled. I should be asking you the same thing. You got in a fight, after all.” She eyes his bloody hands. They could do with some bandages.

He shakes his head, thinking it very ridiculous that Kate gives a damn about his wellbeing, “Bastard made a couple damn comments he shoulda kept to himself ‘bout Lenny. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“You did the right thing, standing up for him where he couldn’t for himself… And I think that man was thinking of teaching me a ‘lesson’ himself.”

Arthur snorts, “Pig… Honestly, where do these sons of bitches crawl out of?”

“The least I could do was relieve him of his billfold.” Kate smirks, holding up her little prize.

“Well shit,” Arthur smiles, taking it from her and quickly counting through the money, “High-roller. Ten dollars in there.” He hands it back, “We’ll make a thief of you yet. But uh- maybe no more of that tonight. We don’t want any more repeats of that feller we just spooked off.”

She hides the billfold back in her skirts, “I can agree to that… And ten dollars is better than none… Besides, Dutch can’t complain if all of it is going into the camp funds.”

“Trust me, darlin’,” Arthur replies with a light chuckle, “He and Ms. Grimshaw both will find a way to complain about anything anybody puts in… Now, let’s see if we can’t find Lenny.” The both of them look around the saloon to no avail

“Want to have another drink? I’m sure he’ll turn up again.” It’s Kate’s suggestion this time.

“Alright, sounds pretty good.” He agrees.

“Whiskey this time. I can’t stand beer.” She prods him to get something better, though after that god-awful beer, anything would be 20 times an improvement.

“Didn’t take you for someone that’d like whiskey.” He says as they approach the bar.

“I like a lot of things.”

Arthur orders them each a couple shots, and soon enough two shots becomes four, then six, then becomes another beer, and the pair stumbling around the saloon hollering for Lenny, giggling and falling over one another like idiots; _finally_ finding him up on the second floor trying to balance a glass on his nose.

“Theeeere y’are Lenny! Been lookin’ all over for ya’.” Arthur gives the younger man a hard slap on the back, causing the glass to fall and shatter on the first floor. Lenny himself is just about as drunk as they are.

“Where you been?” Kate asks, draping herself over the railing to keep from falling over. Arthur puts a hand on the small of her back to keep her steady.

“Oh, around.” He giggles, “There’s some _lovely_ ladies here.”

“ _Lenny!_ You scoundrel!” She reaches over and slaps him playfully on the arm, teetering a little, he winces a little.

“Didn’t think you had it in ya after Jenny-”

“HEYYY, let’s _not_ talk about Jenny right now.” Lenny interrupts, “I could ask you the _same_ thing, Mr. Morgan. How come _you_ never married?”

Kate is living for this drama right now, perking up off the rail to watch the two men bicker about their love-lives.

Arthur sighs, a dejected noise, “No-one’d have me.”

“Well that’s a damn lie,” Kate interjects, filter obliterated by the alcohol in her system, “ _I’d_ marry you.”

Lenny bursts out laughing, and Arthur just stares at her in bewilderment. His cheeks, though red from drinking, deepen a few shades as he awkwardly stutters out a mess of words that have no meaning. Kate folds her arms across her chest in drunken defiance, daring Arthur to keep self-deprecating.

“I… I need another damn drink. Shut up, both of you ‘fore y’all eat your own words.” Arthur tilts his hat down to cover his eyes.

Lenny, eyes watering, says, “Bring one back for me and the bravest and most foolhardy woman on the planet.”

“Fine…” Arthur disappears back down the stairs.

“You’d _really_ marry him?” Lenny asks, wiping the laughing tears from his eyes.

“I dunno.” She shrugs, “Maybe. I’ve never uh- been courted by anyone?”

“You- Not even once?” A look of concern is starting to grow on his face.

“I’m not exactly pretty, Lenny. Not really courting material.”

“Shame… Damn shame. You’re sweet, and full of more bravery than some of the men in our camp.”

“You can say Bill, it’s okay, he’s not here.”

Lenny snorts, “And wit. You’ve got that too. Besides, Arthur is sweet on you already. He just won’t admit it, ‘cause he’s an ass.”

“Who’s an ass?” Arthur is back with more beer.

“You, you ass.” Kate sticks her tongue out at him.

“Thought I told you to shut up.” He doles out the bottles, smiling anyway.

The three of them continue drinking into the night, Arthur starts a fight or two, Lenny goes missing again, and Kate sings karaoke anyway to raucous drunk cheering. Some men even pay her to sing more, racking her total up to 30 dollars. She happily takes their money and promptly disappears. The rest of the night is a blur, until Arthur’s hand is on her shoulder and he’s telling her to run.

“There’s police, we gotta _go._ ” Arthur sways on his feet, hands loosely grasping her shoulders.

“Fuck the police.” She giggles.

He shakes her a little, “Police comin’ after _me_. Mighta killed some feller.”

Her eyes go wide, “Oh _shit._ ” They both stumble out into the night, Lenny following after them, and the sheriff chasing behind.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Arthur yells back to the man, vaulting over a fence into the fields beyond Valentine. Lenny’s gone down already. Kate scrabbles over the fence with him, putting more and more distance between them and the little town. They run until they’re out of breath and doubled over. Arthur is laughing, full of adrenaline, and Kate is trying so hard not to vomit, wheezing until her breath comes back. When she straightens herself back up, Arthur is staring at her. He looks a little lost, like he didn’t expect her to follow him all the way. He staggers over to her a little, and gently cups her cheek in his well-worn hand. Kate can’t help nuzzling into it a little, still tipsy and buzzing. They both are.

“You’re a strange woman… You know that?” He murmurs.

“I’ve been called a lot of things, Mr. Morgan. Strange is one of the kinder things.” She responds, deeply in love with the warmth of his hand compared to the cool night on her bare cheek. And like that, he’s kissing her, it’s a bit awkward because he has to stoop a bit, but kissing her, nonetheless. He doesn’t demand or intrude, just a series of soft pecks one right after the other upon her lips, and she doesn’t back away. She loops her arms around the back of his neck and pulls him down into the tall grass. Arthur moves to kiss along her jaw and neck, and she sighs ever so sweetly, eyes becoming heavy. Slowly, then all at once, falling asleep, worn out.

Arthur stops and strokes though her hair, still a bit bleary. Then he gathers her up in his arms to keep her close and warm, falling asleep right next to her with the moon and stars to watch over them.


	7. On Love, and other feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're beginning to ramp up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the poem referenced is Khalil Gibran's "On Love" from his work "The Prophet," I highly suggest that you read it.

_June 7 th, 1899_

_Horseshoe Overlook_

_If Katherine remembers anything about that night in Valentine, she hasn’t said anything, she isn’t avoiding me, or treating me any differently. She goes about helping Kieran with the horses, chasing the new chickens with Jack, or singing one of the songs she knows from her “phone.” Some of the other women are starting to pick up the lyrics. She’s finally started leaving that raggedy old bear doll in her bedroll too. I’m glad to see her abandoning a childish thing._

_Dutch was genuinely impressed with the thirty dollars she brought back for the camp the other night. It’s almost like he was expecting her to fail. At least Hosea has kindly taken it upon himself after her success to officially teach her the art of removing people from their money, says that she has potential. I’m sure he just wants something to do, and she, as always, is willing to learn. I wish her luck; Hosea is a real hardass when it comes to his teaching methods._

_Just a day or so ago, Kate was huddled up in the wagon reading. She hid it away whenever someone came to bother her, though I saw the title in passing, “Red Dead,” must be some penny dreadful. Don’t know why she keeps it hidden, I’ve been known to enjoy a penny dreadful, though I don’t often have the time to read. She refused to loan it to Mary-Beth when she asked, even though the two of them have become quite close. However, it’s quite sweet to see the two women together hovering over one of Mary-Beth’s or Dutch’s books whenever Kate is feeling sociable._

_Something strange I’ve noticed, Dutch and Molly have been increasingly hostile towards one another lately, more so than usual at least. I try not to eavesdrop, but it seems that she’s accusing Dutch of infidelity, which definitely isn’t beyond him, but not just with some working girl or stranger, but with Kate. He does seem to hover around her quite a bit, the two even have genial conversations about Evelyn Miller’s work for hours. Honestly, I haven’t seen Dutch animated over something other than a job in a long damn time. But I doubt that Dutch has made any advances towards Kate, nor Kate towards him. Nothing Dutch says or does will soothe Molly, or the slowly growing jealousy within me as well. The most I can do is separate Dutch and Kate before someone gets hurt, killed, or worse._

_Hosea has seen a massive bear up the mountain, I’m going with him to see if we can’t kill it, and I’m taking Kate with us. If anything, it takes her away from the brewing storm of Molly O’Shea and she gets practice with a gun._

-0-

The Stranger had been right. As soon as Arthur and Kate had gotten back to their horses and rode back into camp, she dug frantically through her backpack and pulled out both books she had brought with her. First, _The Prophet_ by Khalil Gibran, which is full of some of her favorite poetry, but has nothing to do with the current situation, and a copy of a book she’s been meaning to re-read: _Red Dead,_ by J. Marston. Could this be it? This had to be a coincidence. There was no way that John- no... The publication year is listed as 1940, John would be too old to remember all of this- J. Marston, Jack… Jack Marston. She flips through the pages and sure enough finds a black and white photograph of what appears to be a middle-aged Jack over a short biography and some of his other accredited works. Kate peeks out of the back of the wagon; nobody is paying attention… Good. She scoots back inside and gets to reading, hardly stopping for anything, and she remembers. She remembers having to read this for a college course on the final gangs of the old west, all the information she had to compile about the lives of the gang members, family trees, news articles, failed robberies, death dates, grave sites. She taps into her phone and looks through old notes from that year that she had saved to the cloud. There it is. A brief history of the rise and fall of the Van der Linde gang, right at her fingertips. She has to fend off both Arthur and Mary-Beth, though she hated yelling at both of them. Neither can know. Nobody can…

When Kate finishes late into the night from when she started, she snaps the book shut and buries it back in her bag along with her phone. She doesn’t want to look at either of them anymore. Her hands are starting to shake. She knows. She remembers. In these next four months alone, nearly half of the gang, the people she’s come to love and trust with her life, is wiped out.

Arthur finds her sitting near the cliff at the edge of camp, sitting partially hidden behind a large rock and staring out to the river in the distance. It’s obvious that she’s been crying.

He keeps his distance, thumbs hooked on his belt “You uh- you alright Ms. Kate?”

“Didn’t I scare you off earlier?” She sniffles, wiping away the snot and tears on the back of her hand.

“Kid, you’re about as scary as a kitten. You can’t shake me off that easy. And I thought you were done with this wounded animal act.” It reminds him of how she was acting in Colter, and he wants to leave that hellish part of his life behind.

“Oh, fuck _off_ , Arthur. Let me be emotional.” She tosses a pebble at him.

He skirts out of the way of the projectile, “Jesus, what did you read?”

“I- it was just a really intense book. It’s like- it’s like I just experienced my closest friends dying…” Kate mumbles out, voice still wavering.

“Look… I don’t know much about that, but Mary-Beth gets emotional over books too, maybe you ought to talk to her? I dunno. Go apologize at least. She’s tough, but she was starting to think you was friends.”

“Sure. I will tomorrow…” She cleans off her hand in the grass, “Hey, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Arthur sits next to her, leaning back against the rock, “Yeah probably… Just got back from some last-minute debt collection for Herr Strauss and I heard you wailing.”

“God, I wasn’t that loud, was I?”

“Nah…” He lights up a cigarette, “I came to check on you before going to bed, and you weren’t there. Besides, nothing can be heard over the combined snoring of Mr. Williamson and Uncle.”

She rolls her eyes, “I appreciate your concern… So, the debt collecting. How’d that go?”

“’Bout as shit as you’d expect. Bastard spat in my damn mouth.” Arthur takes a drag of his cigarette and blows a couple smoke rings.

“ _Ew_. This is why you should wear your damn mask when you go collecting. Something could-” It dawns on her that this is where it started, Arthur being infected with TB. She suddenly gets very quiet. She couldn’t even guarantee Arthur’s life.

“Eh, ain’t like it hasn’t happened before.” He offers her a puff.

“I- no thanks. I don’t smoke.”

“The hell does that mean? Smoking is good for you. Go on, take it.” He moves his hand closer to her.

She chuckles, “It really isn’t, Arthur.” It won’t matter in the long run if he stops smoking now, or if she starts, but this butt in particular has TB infected saliva all over it. She pushes his hand away.

“This some future bullshit I don’t know?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you. It _could_ unravel the fabric of the universe itself.”

“Tell me anyway. Wouldn’t be the worst thing if I got to spend the last few moments of existence sat here under the stars with a good-for-nothing like you.” He teases, stubbing out the cigarette half finished.

“You wouldn’t believe me anyway. So, I won’t.” She yawns a bit, suddenly exhausted, “Goodnight Arthur… You’d better actually sleep tonight, okay?” Kate gets up from her spot in the grass and crawls back into the wagon, but not before giving Arthur a little kiss on the cheek.

Arthur is thankful for the darkness and her absence, otherwise there’d be eyes on the blush creeping up his face. He rummages in his satchel a little and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He leaves them there in the grass, getting up and stretching, before heading to his cot to fall into merciful sleep.

-0-

On the dot, as it is with every morning since they got to Horseshoe Overlook, Dutch cranks up the phonograph and blasts glorious opera at six am to a collective groan from everyone else. He surveys his little kingdom as it comes to life, cigar in hand, quite pleased with it all. Molly has slammed a pillow over her ears and gone back to sleep, but Dutch doesn’t concern himself with it, with her, anymore. His heart is set on a new prize, young, cocky, and full of knowledge that most of his camp seems to be without. Katherine needs a firm hand to guide her into the apex of her being, and he’s got two of them.

She and Mary-Beth are chatting over coffee, and he idly listens in.

“I uh- wanted to apologize for yelling at you. I get a bit too emotional over the lives of the people in the books I read. Entirely my fault. I want to make it up to you, but I can’t let you read it.”

“How come? It’s just a story.” Mary-Beth asks over the rim of her cup.

“As a friend… I hope you’ll just trust me on this.” Kate looks at the other woman almost pleadingly.

“You _know_ I can’t just let it go if it shook you so much. Just tell me what it’s about and I’ll quit botherin’ you.”

“It- has to do with certain things that happen in the future, and I feel obligated to keep that information safe, because it could change everything.”

“Oh… Well… If that’s the case.” Despite all the proof, Mary-Beth is hesitant, but she’ll give Kate the benefit of the doubt.

“But I can lend you my other book. It’s just poetry, and I think you’d really like it.” Kate offers.

The mood brightens almost instantly, “Oh lovely. We can read some together. I know Kieran would like to hear something nice after being stuck to that pole all day.”

“Ladies.” Dutch interrupts, finally seeing his opening in the conversation and getting himself some coffee, “I hope you aren’t thinking of lightening that O’Driscoll’s punishment by any stretch.”

“Oh, it’s just poetry, Dutch. Ain’t like Kate and I are feedin’ him.” Mary-Beth scoffs, having definitely been sneaking Kieran scraps and reading to him when everyone else is busy.

“Poetry, hm? And just what is poetry like in the future, Ms. Morris?” He asks, turning to Kate, cup in hand.

“Oh uh- these poems aren’t too far in the future by any stretch. Just the 1920’s.” She stammers out.

“Good to see there will still be artistic and free spirits in the world. Why don’t you read your favorite for us, since you seemed so keen on entertaining the O’Driscoll?”

“My favorite- let me… Let me get the book.” Kate scurries off to the wagon and returns, “My favorite is actually the first one… It’s called ‘On Love.’”

“Love. Well ain’t that sweet? Without romance, we’d just be monkeys, like scientists’d have you believe. Go on, read it.” Dutch gestures with his cup for her to start.

Kate begins, “When love beacons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep…” Mary-Beth and Dutch stand in silent contemplation for the duration of the poem, taking the words into their hearts.

“Love gives naught but itself and takes not from itself.

Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed; for love is sufficient unto love.”

Javier takes up a spot on a log near the fire, cleaning up his rifle.

“But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night…”

Charles has sat himself nearby, alone, but content to listen.

“To know the pain of too much tenderness...”

Kieran strains to hear the words from his spot tied to a post nearby.

“To be wounded by your own understanding of love; and to bleed willingly and joyfully.”

Arthur finally wakes up to the little commotion, staying in his tent, distant.

Kate finishes out the poem, voice full of feeling, “To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; to rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy; to return home at eventide with gratitude; and then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise on your lips…” There is a long silence when she finishes. The small crowd she gathered slowly disperses all getting to their morning duties, save for Dutch.

He didn’t expect something like that from a poem. It makes his heart burn in his chest with the fire of life and longing, “Thank you, Ms. Katherine… For such a lovely poem. Perhaps we could read together some time, I have a few books you may enjoy.”

“Thanks for the offer. I think I’ll take you up on that.” She closes the book and smiles sweetly.

“Now go along. Them horses need some care before we rescue Mr. Bell from his imminent demise.”

“Yes, sir.” Kate nods dutifully and runs off to do her work. Dutch smiles after her, not knowing that Molly is watching him from the opening of their tent through jealous eyes.

-0-

It’s the middle of the day, the horses are fed, watered and cleaned. Before Kate works on polishing the saddles, she’s sat in the grass across from Kieran eating her lunch, sneakily passing him little hunks of meat and bread.

“You doing okay?” Kate asks him in a quiet moment.

“Oh- I been in worse places than tied to a post.” He tosses his head back to shake his greasy hair out of his face.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly, Ms. Kate. Those were quite dark times.”

“I get that… If it means anything, back home my family was- not the best either. Probably not as bad as anything that’s happened to you, but I get it. You’re not alone.”

“I appreciate that.” He smiles weakly.

“I’ll try to be in your corner whenever I can, Kieran. Speaking of which, I have a gift for you.”

“A gift? God, you’re not gonna threaten to castrate me as well, are you?” Kate was reaching into her apron for something and suddenly stops.

“Firstly, no. Secondly, I’ll kick whoever said that right in their stupid fucking face.”

Kieran laughs, a high whining thing, “Good luck. Dutch’ll kill you first.”

“Great. Just what I wanted. At this point I think he’s going to anyway. He’s been staring at me like a starving dog at table scraps. He’s definitely going to serial-kill me. Anyway…” She shakes her head of the thought, “I brought dry shampoo and a comb.”

“Dry… shampoo.”

“It’s basically a soap with no rinsing involved. It’s going in your hair so you don’t attract any pests. Future technology. I was saving it for myself, but I honestly can’t stand to see you go without any cleaning at all, and I at least have access to a bath.”

“Dutch will kill you regardless if you’re kind to me. If not him, Bill. Micah, if they bring him back in one piece. Maybe Arthur, cause he’s Dutch’s pet.”

Kate frowns a little and fidgets with the cap of the dry shampoo before speaking again, “Arthur is his own man… And I’ll be damned before Dutch kills me for treating you like a human being.” She squishes out some of the gel onto the comb and runs it through Kieran’s hair. He groans a little, the teeth of the comb feel so good on his scalp, and so does the gentle touch, “I think you’d be purring if you were a cat.” Kate giggles, making a little fun of his totally blissed-out expression.

“Most likely… This feels so nice.” He murmurs.

“Beats lye soap and eggs, huh?” She combs out all the tangles and grease until his hair is nice and fluffy again.

“In every way, Ms. Kate.” He smiles up at her.

Kate gives him a peck on the forehead, “And you smell a bit nicer too.”

“Haw-Haw.” He rolls his eyes, still grinning, but Kate looks rather sad.

“I’m sure things will get better for you, Kieran… It’s only a matter of time.”

“Sure. If you think so… I ought to send you away with some information for Dutch, huh?”

“Kieran- you don’t-” She starts.

“It’s what’s keeping me alive right now, Ms. Kate. Even if it’s barely scraps. Colm is in a lot of trouble in St. Denis… I heard some of his men talkin’. St. Denis. Now go before anyone sees us being too friendly.”

“Thanks, Kieran…” Kate puts the bottle and comb back in her apron, gathers up her dishes from lunch, and leaves Kieran again at the mercy of forces greater than the both of them, her heart aching. She returns to her work with the horses for the rest of the afternoon.

-0-

Meanwhile, Arthur is coming back from hunting for the day and is suddenly stopped in his tracks by the sound of a heated argument between Molly and Dutch. He’s not typically one to eavesdrop, but he can’t help himself.

“I’ve seen you lookin’ at her, Dutch!”

“Who?” It’s as innocent as he can sound.

“You know exactly who, bastard. That mental one. That’s just like you, takin’ the young and innocent for yourself. Too old for you, am I?”

“You’re being delusional. Again.” He sounds exhausted.

“Am I? You’re the one that’s makin’ eyes at a girl that believes she’s from the future! Maybe I’m not delusional enough for you.”

“I am not ‘making eyes,’ as you so eloquently put it. I was simply enjoying a poem that captures the intimacy and complexities of love. Besides, I believe her. She _knows_ things.”

Molly sounds like she’s on the verge of crying, “You _never_ once let me read my poems for you.”

“Ms. O’Shea…” There’s a threatening hint in his tone now, and Arthur knows it’s time to back off.

“Maybe you’re the delusional one! Fuck you, Dutch van der Linde! Fuck you!” It can’t be missed, Molly storms out of the tent saying it. Arthur makes himself look busy as she stomps over to the unattended horses and rides herself out of camp.

Dutch opens the flap of the tent, there’s a darkness in his eyes.

“You uh- want me to go after her, Dutch?” Arthur offers.

“No, Arthur… She’ll burn herself out eventually and come back when she feels like it.” He clips a cigar and lights it.

“Anything I _can_ do for you?”

He takes a long, thoughtful drag, “When Ms. Katherine is done with her work for the day, send her my way. She and I have things to discuss.”

“After everything Ms. O’Shea just accused you of?”

“You doubtin’ me, boy? Bring her. To me.”

“… Sure.” Always.

-0-

“You wanted to see me?” Kate steps into Dutch’s tent that evening after dinner.

“Indeed, I did. I believe we have some reading to do.” He selects one from the small pile he keeps and gestures for her to sit on a crate, while he sits on his cot, “But it’s more than that, of course. I believe you’re withholding information from me.”

“I promise I’m not.”

“You need to tell me how to keep my gang afloat, Ms. Katherine. You’re from the future, as you’ve said, one where our ideals clearly don’t succeed. You’ll tell me what I can do so we don’t fail. Ever. Again… But first, how do you feel about philosophy?”


	8. Exit, Pursued by a Bear and a Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy and bear attacks will drive a man mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. FINALLY a new chapter. I'm sorry for such a long ass wait but life and huge writing blocks get in the way sometimes. Forgive me T-T

“What?” She balks a little at his question. This is almost a 180 from the dark road she believed this meeting would go down.

“You heard me, now answer.”

“I- Dutch do you want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

“I think philosophy is one of the most pretentious things on earth.” Dutch opens his mouth to interject, “ _However,_ that doesn’t mean I abstain from participating in it. I just think the ‘great minds’ need to get off their high horses and see how common people think and feel since there are plenty more of us than there are of them.” Kate finishes.

“Well damn,” He leans back in his seat, stretching a little, “You do have a head on those shoulders.”

“Doesn’t mean I use it well.”

“It’s more than most of my men can say.”

“Then maybe try asking your women too.” Dutch hoots with laughter at that.

 _This_ is even playing ground. Neither one has control over the other. Just words and wit. Kate feels her initial trepidation of meeting with Dutch privately melt away as they talk. He reads to her, passages from Evelyn Miller’s works, and they discuss their stances.

Dutch grows quiet after a time, looking somber.

“What’s that sour face for?” She asks him.

“You know I love our gang, our people. I’d do anything to keep them all safe, y’understand?”

“I do… S’why you treated me the way you did when I first came here, and the reason why you’re treating Kieran like that. Even if I wish you wouldn’t.” She pauses, but can’t help speaking what’s on her mind, “He’s human too, you know. Terrified, and you’re making him sit tied to that damn pole sitting in his own filth like an animal…” It’s all starting to come up, come out of her like vomit, “Starving him- threatening to castrate him! Dutch! That ain’t right! That ain’t fucking right!” Kate can feel tears welling up in her eyes. She hates this part of when she gets angry. How in hell is Dutch supposed to take her seriously if she’s crying? There’s a sudden warmth on her shoulders as Dutch puts his hands on her, gentle this time. He can feel her shaking, “He doesn’t know anything else… Just let him go.” Kate knows it’s a lie, but Kieran’s health is more important than crumbs of information for his suffering.

“I…” He considers all of it, pulling her against his chest in the semblance of a hug so he doesn’t have to see her face , “I’ll make you a deal, Ms. Katherine… Kieran Duffy goes free if you tell me how to keep my people; _our_ people safe. You need to tell me…” He leans down and murmurs into her ear, “You need to tell me what happens to us. No lies, no ‘protecting the future.’”

From the all-encompassing tobacco-and-cologne scented dark of Dutch’s chest, Kate nods.

“Good girl… Now… Tell me how to get Micah back.”

-0-

_June 7 th, 1899… Continued_

_I watched her come out of Dutch’s tent with red eyes and tear streaks down her cheeks. I can only assume the worst has happened to her. I could hear her shouting, then the resigned silence. Dutch got what he wanted, and I couldn’t protect her._

-0-

“Hey.” Arthur snaps his journal shut and follows after Kate as she passes while she fiddles with Charles’ carving in her pocket, “You- Do you want to go hunting with me ‘n Hosea?”

She breezes past him, “It’s practically night, Arthur, not now.”

“Critter comes out at twilight. Come with us… Please.” He raises a hand to put on her shoulder to stop her, but he drops it. Not after what he believes Dutch had done, “Get your mind off things. It’ll just be the three of us.”

“… What kind of animal?” Kate asks, stopping her march to her hidey hole.

Arthur perks up at that, “Bear. A big one. A legendarily big one at that.”

“And you want to take me, the person who, need I remind you, can barely shoot a moving target, to a _bear_ hunt.”

“Bear’s a big target. You’ll hit him.” Arthur offers her a lopsided smile. Kate can’t say no to it; he looks too much like a dopey puppy to refuse.

“Alright. But if I die, I’ll blame you and haunt you forever as a ghost.”

“Won’t be the first one to haunt me. C’mon, go get Lup saddled. ‘N bring a bedroll; we might be out there for the night.” Arthur can see Dutch leave his tent in his peripheral, smug little smile on his face like a cat that got into the cream. He’s walking to the horses with a touch of determination in his stride, while Kate is currently (safely) in the back of his wagon getting supplies, “Where are you off to, Dutch?”

“Someone has to go find Ms. O’Shea; she could kill herself out there, and I’ll be damned if it happens.”

“Even after that shoutin’ match?”

“Even then, dear boy. Even then.” Dutch heads off without another word. Arthur shakes his head a little and gathers up a rifle for Kate along with the piece Hosea lent him. He can hear her climbing out of the wagon by the squeak of its axels under pressure. Dutch makes no sense right now. Why go after Molly when she’s been replaced? Unless- He frowns. No sense at all. Not even God can claim to know what goes on in Dutch van der Linde’s head.

Hosea and Kate are tacking up their respective horses in peace, having a genial chat about edible plants in a pinch when Arthur comes by with the weapons and some food.

“Good to see the muscle has finally joined the mind.” Hosea quips, passing the girth of the saddle under Silver Dollar’s belly.

Kate chuffs lightheartedly, “Then what does that make you, Mr. Matthews?”

“The cantankerous old fool, clearly.” Hosea’s lips barely twitch up in a smile at her joke, “Keep on keeping eyes on this one, Arthur. Little spitfire, she is.”

“Oh, trust me Hosea, barely gets a moment to herself.” Arthur hands Kate the rifle he picked out for her.

“Terrible, really, when one is trying to bathe.”

“ _Hey._ Not-.” His cheeks and neck start heating up.

“You walked right into it, cowboy.” Kate hops up on Lup, adjusting in her seat.

Arthur is looking her and Lup over for tack mistakes when he stops dead, “What- what on _God’s green earth are you wearing, girl?”_

“The jeans I bought. I don’t see the practicality of wearing skirts to hunt a literal bear. Hope you don’t mind, but I stole a pair of your suspenders. I’ve missed wearing pants so much…” She sighs fondly.

Arthur opens and closes his mouth like a fish struggling to breathe on land.

“You’ve seen women in culotte’s, Arthur, why on earth are you acting like a schoolboy over this?” Asks Hosea, now primly sitting atop his horse.

“ _Men’s_ trousers, Hosea. You’re okay with _this_?” He gestures wildly to Kate, who, in fact looks quite charmingly tomboyish.

“You say this like you haven’t seen me in drag for a job. Get on your damn horse and get over it.”

“Fine, fine…” Arthur drawls. The issue he takes, though he’d never admit it, isn’t a woman wearing pants, it’s _Kate_ wearing pants. What is he supposed to do with himself? It’s not as if they leave much up to the imagination, and he hates himself for feeling that way when he _swore_ the kiss in Valentine was another drunken, moronic mistake. Kate, on the other hand is happy as a clam; by her standards, these jeans are modest, they don’t cling, pinch or squeeze her in any way, flattering or unflattering, and it makes riding so much easier than having to bunch up three layers of skirts over her hips just to get her legs around Lup.

-0-

The three of them ride back up to the foot of the Grizzlies and tie up the horses at a distance away so they won’t spook as easily in case the bear attacks. They’ve spent the better part of the afternoon hunting around a nearby stream for prints.

“Look here, the both of you.” Hosea calls Kate and Arthur to his side, “Look what I’ve found.”

“Hosea, come on. We don’t wanna look at a pile of shit.” Arthur crosses his arms and gives the other man a trepidatious look.

“Ah-ah… Not just any pile of shit, my friend. Bear shit. Fresh too.”

“So that means we’re close?” Kate asks.

“That we are, young lady. Now, we’re going to have to lure him out of hiding, ‘cause bears tend to be skittish around humans. We’ll make bait. Run off and pick me some blackberries, I saw a bush just over yonder.” He points back towards the stream, “Arthur and I will handle the offal.” Hosea makes a shooing motion and Kate tramps back to the stream through the underbrush.

She finds the bush pretty easily; fat spring berries hang from the twigs, dark and shining like precious stones. She gathers up quite a few, folding some into a handkerchief for later and walking back over a handful for the men. Hosea and Arthur are twining together some meat and herbs.

“Got those berries? Good. Bring ‘em here.” Hosea motions her closer with a tilt of his head and Kate complies, “Stuff them right in this little opening here.” He holds out the bundle and she presses her handful of blackberries into the center. Arthur wipes his hands on his pants. All that juice from the offal won’t help when a massive bear is running at them at ramming speed, “Now, Ms. Kate, take the bait and lay it over on that rock in the clearing, come right back to us.” Hosea hands off the bait to her.

“You’re sure you want me to do this?”

“I’m sure. Now git.” She scampers off.

“Can’t believe you’re making her do all the hard work.”

“Girl needs a little dirt under her nails, especially if she’s planning to stick with us for the long haul. She’ll have to do a lot worse eventually, maybe even kill. The nature of innocence is to be taken away from those it surrounds. And besides, you and John are all growed up now. Jack is too young to learn these things, she’s the new prodigy.”

Arthur inwardly cringes at Hosea’s words about innocence as Kate comes back from the clearing.

“All set.” Kate gives the two men a thumbs-up.

“Excellent. Over behind that boulder now, it’s time to wait for Mr. Bear.”

Time passes; afternoon becomes early evening and a deep, yet soft chuffing can be heard from the clearing. Kate slowly peeks around the boulder and her heart drops into her stomach. There in the clearing is a bear as big as a damn car, white fur almost stained yellow from its time in nature, its face scarred from the men that tried to bring it down before. It’s snuffling around their bait. Kate turns to the others, fear plainly on her face.

“So?” Asks Arthur, voice hushed, “He out there?” She nods in response and Arthur continues, “Right… All rifles trained on him, aim for the head. I’ll whistle, he’ll look up, then we all fire.”

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Morgan.” Hosea nods, patting Arthur on the shoulder before pulling out his rifle to train it on the behemoth from atop the boulder itself.

“You too, Ms. Kate.” She shakes, pulling the butt of the rifle onto her shoulder while Arthur takes his position on the left of the boulder. Heart thudding in her chest, Kate crouches low and keeps to the foliage, moving away from cover to get a better shot. She peers though the scope and takes aim taking a deep shuddering breath.

The bear raises its head and sniffs at the air. Something is strange. Its senses tell it that it’s being watched, stalked, like it has been many times before. It pants, then slowly raises to its hind legs, trying to catch the scent better, beady eyes trying to catch movement.

A shot suddenly rings out and pings off a stone nearby. In her own fear, Kate misfired before the signal. The bear grunts as it lands back on all fours and starts padding over to the source of the noise, unafraid. This is not the first time it has been shot at, nor will it be the last.

Arthur and Hosea move out of their places, suddenly thrown into a panic, beaconing Kate to move from her hiding spot and run, guns dropped, daring not to shoot for fear of hitting her. She is frozen as the bear lumbers closer and closer, mind running wild with death and fear. But suddenly, there is a small spark of bravery in her. Dumb, moronic bravery, as she stands up from her hiding place, arms and legs splayed wide in front of this hulking creature. It backs up a bit then stands up itself, focusing on this creature that has suddenly appeared, grunting a little.

Deep from her gut from that place of foolishness and fear, she screams at it. Roaring like a goddamn death metal singer, _“BACK THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING BEAR. THIS IS MY SPOT. GO AWAY!”_

 _“_ Hosea what the _hell_ is she doing??”

“I think… She’s standing her ground against the damn spirit bear.”

The bear itself tilts its head and growls a little at her.

“ _YOU HEAR ME?! GO AWAY BEAR! GO AWAY!”_ She takes a step towards it, switching the butt of her rifle to face it. The bear drops to all fours again and grumbles, “ _MY SPOT! FUCK OFF!”_ Another step. She raises the rifle and strikes the damn thing across the nose, the most sensitive spot of the creature. It yowls in pain and takes a wild delirious swipe at her thigh, cutting deep and red before running off back into the woods, “Oh…” her voice cracks, “Oh fuck-” She collapses as Arthur rushes forward and Hosea takes a few more shots at the retreating animal to scare it off from the spot for a while more.

“Damn moron…” He mutters shucking off her pants, little care for her dignity now, “You god-damn _moron_. You could have killed yourself.”

“Mh… But I didn’t. I saved myself.” She laughs weakly.

“Sure, and now you’re bleeding out.” He tears a strip of denim from her ruined pants and ties her thigh up tight.

“You’ll fix me up, I know you will.” Things are starting to get a bit blurry and dark.

“Jackass…” He mutters, taking a small vial of laudanum from his satchel and pressing it to her lips, “Hosea! Help me get her on a damn horse!” He hollers.

“Love you too…” She mumbles. All Kate feels as the pain and light begin to fade out from her body is those strong arms wrapped tight around her again.


End file.
